


There's a List for That

by GatherYourStrength



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, BAMF Hermione Granger, Feels, Gen, Goblins, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Hermione Granger & Severus Snape Friendship, Legilimency (Harry Potter), Lists, Multi, Plans, Time Travel Fix-It, Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:20:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 51,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25272307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GatherYourStrength/pseuds/GatherYourStrength
Summary: Redirected and rebranded, the Death Eaters have dismantled and destroyed everything the Light holds dear.  With their society on the verge of extinction, Hermione is the only one who can fix the future.At least, that's what she keeps telling herself.Armed with plans, lists, books, and a house elf, she won't stop until things have been set right. But what will happen when she doesn't arrive at her intended destination?  Will her plans to work alone still hold water?  Or will she sink among the endless waves of memory and regret?
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 62
Kudos: 190





	1. PROLOGUE: THE END OF THE BEGINNING

**Author's Note:**

> Hermione comes into this story very mission-oriented; she has a goal and she will accomplish it like a boss. She has been fighting a war for so long, that she basically doesn't know how to stop. For that reason, I wanted to see her in a slightly different time period than the 1970s (as is the case with a lot of HP time travel fix-its). 
> 
> The perspective is split between the four main characters: Hermione, Severus, Remus, and Sirius (though you won't get Remus or Sirius until Chapter 8/9). I wanted to be truthful to their canon personalities, but I think there would be some significant differences if Hermione happened upon them less than a year after the First Wizard War ended. My hope is to study how they would cope as men and women in their early 20s, not really mature enough to handle the trauma they've all endured.
> 
> I also may or may not take generous liberties with goblin magic and legilimency. I'll let you decide. :)

PROLOGUE: THE END OF THE BEGINNING

Hermione’s heart rate raced in time with the pounding of her feet, her shoes slapping against the onyx floors of the department halls. Lungs already aching from her sprint, she threw herself through the doorway to the research library and tossed back a nonverbal spell to lock and shield the door. She ran twenty feet before she heard the door being blasted inwards behind her. Her limbs were shaking but she couldn’t panic. Not now. She needed to buy herself more time. She glanced ahead at shelves upon shelves of genealogy tomes and grimoires and hastily transfigured them to large crows, aiming the flock at the white robed figures piling through the demolished doorway. 

She flicked a silencing spell at her shoes and took off again, past the sections on law, love, and magical theories, only to skid into a hard right turn. After six month living in this library, she knew the shortcuts well. Her windpipe burned as she passed sections for parallel universes, potions, and prophecy when the red light of what she hoped was a stunner careened past her elbow. She aimed another shield behind her before taking an abrupt left turn. She turned back and shot off a _bombarda_ that demolished the lowest shelf, making the entire section of shelving teeter and hopefully collapse on whoever had followed her into the aisle. 

Her legs ached but she kept going, berating herself for not taking up a fitness routine. Although honestly, it would have never fit into her timetable. She pushed herself passed sections on runes, scrying, and sexuality. Her destination was only fifteen more feet but she could hear footsteps running behind her. Jets of red and green light narrowly missed her hair. At ten feet the black tiles slipped out from beneath her and she tumbled forward to the now frozen floor, realizing it had been transfigured to ice. Unfortunately for her pursuer, Hermione had built up enough momentum that she slid to the end of the aisle. There on the lowest shelf, she lashed out her wand for the tome she knew would unlock her workroom. She dropped through the floor as the tile directly beneath her vanished. Hermione fell into darkness as the tile resealed above her. The last thing she saw was a final jet of bright green light. 

Tears came to Hermione’s eyes as the wind was forced from her lungs on impact. Normally she would get into her workroom by stepping, not falling backwards, onto the metal landing that topped the spiral staircase. She pulled herself into a sitting position and desperately tried to breath. In an attempt to circumvent her panic, she ran through a mental checklist: wand intact, no head injury, no blood, her ankle twinged but with her level of adrenalin it was impossible to know if that meant a break or just overexertion. The witch turned her gaze upwards. She knew the entrance to the room was warded, but she could feel the wizards above already pushing on her protections, searching for weaknesses. She predicted three minutes until the wards fell completely. No matter; she was prepared.

The ache in Hermione’s chest slowly subsided, and she gripped the banister, sluggishly making her way down the spiral staircase. At the bottom, she hobbled through the doorway to her right and into the ensuite, exchanging her wand into its holster for the beaded bag in her pocket. She grabbed an orange potion vial from the top drawer and downed the contents in one gulp. Pick-Me-Up Potion was her own design, similar to Invigoration Draught, but without the depressing letdown after several hours. Mostly it was like drinking a few shots of espresso, but the energy and focus was instantaneous and didn’t bring on the same jitters as caffeine. 

She glanced in the mirror, which replied, “Another one of those days, dearie?” 

Hermione rolled her eyes, and walked back into the main room, glancing again at the top of the stairs. The heavy silencing charms in the room had helped her complete research without disturbance, but now it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, knowing that there were at least three wizards less than ten feet away trying to blast through her wards and kill her. 

Hermione proceeded to her workbench where her Unspeakable cloak was folded next to a wooden box the size of a small paperback novel. She used her wand to make a tiny cut in her left index finger, knowing the box would only open for her magical signature and blood. She opened it in a fluid motion while tucking her wand away. After throwing on her uniform of the past six months, she reached for the parchment in the box and the device that lay underneath. Moisture pooled in her eyes while she stared at the letter that held Kingsley’s signature and she allowed herself another few seconds of grief. Her friend and only confidant in this wild plan, Kingsley had given her a purpose when she could find none. Kingsley had set Hermione to this task and somehow provided her with enough confidence and hope--and books, so many books--to see it done. And now here she was, the gears had been set in motion and there was no going back. Hermione closed her eyes and willed her tears not to fall. There would be time for that later.

She felt what must have been a successful effort to break through one of the ward layers above and hurriedly folded the letter back into the box, a small drop of her blood smeared on the parchment from the cut she hadn’t yet healed. Tucking the box into her pocket, she turned to face the stairs. Small debris was starting to rain from the ceiling from what she suspected were blasting spells. She was cutting it close. In the span of one breath, she scanned the room for peace of mind. All of her essential items were packed in her beaded bag, where they had been for weeks, but her desire to double-check everything was too strong to ignore. There could be nothing left that would indicate where she had gone, or how to follow her. 

The ceiling above her began to crackle as if the floor above was burning. Hermione desperately wanted to believe no one would ever set a fire in a library, but the atrocities of The First Circle went well beyond book burning. Finally, she lifted the device still clutched in her right hand and reviewed the three dials on the left of the small box. They were all set as she had left them with corresponding outputs on the glass face showing year: 1980, month: July, Day: 31; Harry’s date of birth. Enough time to ensure Tom Riddle, his supporters, and his horcruxes could be dealt with before ever endangering James & Lily Potter. Hermione’s initial preference had been to go back to the day the prophecy was overheard to keep Tom from ever targeting the Potters, but no records indicated the exact date. It would not have bothered her to camp out at the Hogs Head every day until Trelawney came for her interview, but logically she needed a fixed date where she knew exactly where Tom Riddle would be. 

At the bottom of the device’s face was a small circular opening. Hermione pinched her left index finger, forcing more blood from the cut, and set the bleeding wound over the opening. Instantly a golden glow was emitted from the sand held within as she focused solely on the time she needed and clearly stated, “deduxisti me transierunt.” 

She watched the time sand shift and swirl in a mesmerizing pattern as the soft yellow light started to spread from the device to her hand, and continue up her arm. From what she could tell, it had just enveloped her head and shoulders when an explosion occurred directly above her. The ceiling started coming down in earnest by the staircase and she could see lights from the library above. A white robed wizard dropped onto the landing but Hermione could see the golden glow racing down her legs. She held her breath, as a beam of orange light left the wizard’s wand heading straight towards her. The last thing she saw before being sucked into darkness was orange light impacting the glass face of the device while the golden glow surged over her toes.


	2. CHAPTER 1: UNPLANNED

CHAPTER 1: UNPLANNED

1982.

1982?

1982?!

To quote the eloquence of Ronald Weasley - Bloody hell.

When Hermione had planned to go back into the past and fix everything, she had not planned on 19-bloody-82. No, she had not. Thank you very much. 

And of course she had planned. She’d made lists upon lists, plans upon plans. She’d run arithmantic equations and theorems over dozens of scenarios. She’d stayed awake for four days straight while she triple-checked her figures. And she’d spent an entire month plotting the most convoluted flowchart known to both wizards and muggles the world over. Granted, she couldn’t be sure of that - after all, she’d only ever shown it to Kingsley, but he had seemed very impressed. 

The witch shut her eyes tightly, hands gripping the edge of the bar in The Leaky Cauldron, while the Wizard of Oz catchphrase, “There’s no place like home,” echoed in her mind. If only that could actually work. She’d just click her heels three times and wind up in her intended destination of 1980. Really, why wasn’t magic included in more clothing items? Hagrid had a wand in an umbrella, and Fred and George had those shielding hats. It seemed dead useful, particularly if your wand was not available. She added it to her mental list of ‘Things to Research when Time Allows.’ Although the margin of error would likely grow exponentially if all one had to do was tap their heels, so the items needed a failsafe and… No. 

What Hermione needed, was to focus. She peeked out from under her lashes at  _ The Daily Prophet _ that had been left on the bartop. Yes, there it was again: 31st of July, 1982. She inhaled deeply through her nose until her rib cage ached and then exhaled in a blustery huff. Tom looked at her curiously and she momentarily marvelled over the fact that he had not changed. Still bald. Still with bad teeth. Honestly, why didn’t more wizards fix their own teeth? Just another thing to add to ‘Things to Research when Time Allows.’ Truly the list was so long now that she’d have to fit it in somewhere between _ The histor _ y _ of veritaserum testimonies _ and  _ Why don’t wizards use ink pens _ . 

Fixing teeth though was not nearly as important as fixing her current predicament. As the list title suggested, time did not currently allow for such frivolities of thought. Hermione understood she had three options: fix her time turner, get a new time turner, or stay here and get to work. Fixing the time turner was probably feasible, but would take her several years of study to make sure it was done properly. It could likely be faster if she was an Unspeakable, but then she’d have to go through the hassle of becoming an Unspeakable again. As she had no footprint in 1982 - no N.E.W.T. scores, no history with the Minister - she thought it unlikely anyone would let her anywhere near the Department of Mysteries. 

Getting a new time turner was more dangerous and in some ways more complicated. The one she had in her possession was a one-of-a-kind artefact and its owner in 1982 did not know he possessed it, and if he did, certainly would not allow her anywhere near the thing. Furthermore, she’d need his permission to use it successfully. Having Lucius Malfoy realize he had a long-range time turner shortly after the supposed death of Voldemort seemed like a decidedly bad idea. She would never be sure of Draco’s motives when he allowed the ministry access to it, but she had a suspicion she was not the only person unhappy with the state of the wizarding world. Or maybe he was just trying to reduce prison time - it was hard to tell with a Malfoy.

All of this led her to option three: stay here and get to work. Without a war, she’d have to operate within the proper channels. As much as Hermione wanted to kidnap Harry from the Dursleys and leave England, it would never work. She mentally added  _ Find out who the Potter’s listed as Harry’s guardian in their will  _ to her To-Do list. The destruction of the five horcruxes remained on her list. But now there was Harry. 

Hermione hunched closer to the bar in grief. She had wanted to fix so many things for her brother and best friend, one of which was his Boy-Who-Lived title. And now she was too late. Just as she had been too late to save him and Ginny six months ago. She made a silent commitment to Merlin or Morgana or God or Buddha or whoever it was that listened to her internal monologue, telling them that she would not fail him again. Harry may not have James and Lily, but he had her. She would save him from his Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon and she would find a way to safely destroy the horcrux. She would protect Harry Potter with her life. 

What Hermione did not realize was that someone was, in fact, listening to her internal monologue. And as luck would have it, they shared her sentiments exactly.

The witch turned from the bar and was met by the buttons of a black frock coat before she could even step down from the stool. She let out a small gasp as her shoulder blades hit the bar in an attempt to back up. 

The line of buttons lead up to a head of chin-length raven hair and she stared open-mouthed at the hooked nose of Professor Severus Snape. Perhaps it was because Harry had shared the man’s final memories with her, or perhaps because she was only several centimeters away from him, but Hermione could see the tinge of grief that he wore. She wondered if it had been the same when he was her Professor and if she simply never noticed. 

She looked into his obsidian eyes with compassion and started to apologize for not keeping her distance but the sudden widening of his eyes cut her off. It was then she remembered Snape was a legilimens and she swiftly threw up every mental shield she could think of from her Unspeakable training. His eyes narrowed slightly but his face remained impassive. 

“Is this seat taken?" he asked in his low baritone, motioning to the stool next to her own, eyes never leaving her face.

“Nnn… no?” she stammered. Her bafflement over what was actually going on made her response more question than statement.

She’d only just arrived in this time period. Thirty minutes ago she had extricated herself from the bowels of the Department of Mysteries research library and had come to the Leaky Cauldron to ascertain the travel had been successful. And to be met immediately by Professor Snape, of all people, was throwing her completely off balance. 

He sat gracefully and faced the bar, seeming to pay her no further attention. Hermione sighed internally. The pub was busy and seats were limited. Maybe she was overreacting. When she had embarked on this mission, she'd told herself firmly to avoid contact with all previously known persons. She did not want her prior knowledge of supposed strangers to give herself away. Having one of those persons show up immediately was like some form of cruel karmic intervention. 

Snape flagged down the barkeep and Hermione decided to follow through with her swift exit. 

She stood from her stool as his shoulders flinched in her direction. 

"May I ask your name?" he murmured so lowly, she could barely hear. 

He did not face her, choosing instead to angle himself towards her abandoned newspaper. He looked as if he was reading today's headline, but she saw his eyes flick in her direction. 

Snape’s body language was oddly covert, as if he knew they were being watched. She tensed. Her prior assumption was of no immediate danger. This was 1982 after all, technically the war was over. 

Hermione was still turned towards the exit so she started to pat down her robe pockets as if searching for a misplaced item as her gaze wandered the crowded pub.

"Hermione Granger," she breathed, trying not to move her lips. She didn't see anyone suspicious, but knew that not all Death Eaters had gone to Azkaban.

Turning back to the bar, she grabbed the newspaper to buy some time. 

As she rolled it and stuffed it in her pocket, she heard him hiss, "I'll owl you."

She tucked her chin to acknowledge she'd heard, then walked quickly to the Charing Cross exit and out the door. 

Once she was safely ensconced in a hotel off Shaftesbury Avenue, she grew increasingly agitated. Why did Snape want to contact her? He must have overheard some of her thoughts, but which ones? Would he tell Dumbledore about this strange encounter with a strange woman at The Leaky Cauldron? Who was in that pub that had him acting so cautiously?

She pulled out her check sheet of 'Things to Change,' thinking that a decent list would calm her nerves. This particular one needed a total overhaul anyway, now that she was two years later than intended. After several hours and several dozen revisions, she felt the plan was feasible in theory. Reality, though, could ruin everything.

oooOooo

Contrary to popular opinion, Severus Snape enjoyed a great many things. For example, he enjoyed finding and harvesting rare potion ingredients. He enjoyed the occasional glass of elf-made wine after dinner. He enjoyed experimenting and writing for the  _ Potions Quarterly _ Journal. Conversely, he did not enjoy unintelligent children whose only curiosity in the classroom stemmed from whether or not the professor was actually a vampire. He did not enjoy the despair that came from the knowledge that his only true friend, the only person who ever really knew him, was dead. And he most certainly did not enjoy feeling vulnerable or confused - the two primary emotions felt when he discovered Miss Hermione Granger.

Whoever the witch was, she knew he was a legilimens. Why else would she suddenly start occluding as if her life depended on it? And yet there was something oddly compassionate about her. Almost everyone he came into contact with thought of him with disdain or at the very least, passing indifference. She was the only person he had met in months who did not see him and automatically form some sort of negative opinion. In fact, he would bet galleons that she had actually been honest. But why?

She had picked up his need for discretion almost immediately, which was telling in its own way. Although telling of what, he couldn’t be entirely sure. Snape had not met every Death Eater but not every pureblood bigot was a marked follower. And there had certainly been some sympathizers in that crowd tonight. 

Perhaps most concerning, the witch had thought of Harry Potter in combination with the names Lily and Petunia. Severus often liked to get lost in the sea of voices and thoughts in a crowded room, but the second he’d heard Miss Granger think of the name Lily, she had drawn his full attention. Thinking of Harry Potter was not strange in itself, although admittedly less common nine months after The Dark Lord had disappeared. But thinking that Lily’s son needed protecting was something he’d only ever heard from Dumbledore. Why would this random witch have that knowledge? 

Furthermore, knowing about Petunia was highly irregular. He assumed only a handful of people knew of Lily’s muggle relations, and even then would only know their negative history. And then there was the thing she’d mentioned, something called a horcrux. If it needed to be destroyed, it was likely dark or dangerous. But what was it? A ritual? An artefact? It was very rare for Snape to be unfamiliar or confused by anything in the wizarding world and he decided he needed immediate clarity. He was not due at Hogwarts for another fortnight, but decided a swift trip to the library would not go amiss.

oooOooo

Hermione woke early the next morning to the usual nightmares. A nauseating cacophony of green light, fire, mad cackling, and intense pain always snuck its way into her dreams. At this point, the night terrors were the closest thing she had to old friends. Their routine appearance was almost a balm to her active brain, ensuring that she was indeed the same Hermione with the same past, even though she was in a very different time. 

After morning ablutions and a quick bite, she found her anxiety mounting over today’s task. She was about to test the limits of time travel and magical bonds and if it worked--which in her mind, was a very big if--then it was only the tip of the iceberg. She ran through her checklist again and determined that if this didn’t work, she could still move forward, but it would take twice as long. 

With that in mind, she sighed heavily and shut her eyes before calling for Kreacher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This entire story is completed (approx 60k words) but later chapters need heavy editing. I intend to post a chapter every 3-4 days. 
> 
> Also - from the very beginning, I intended this to be a trio story between Hermione/Sirius/Remus and at one point, even wrote 60% of it from the primary viewpoint of Remus and Hermione with the smut to boot - but I realized I wanted to see more Snape & Hermione friendship. So I rewrote it from there and may include a second companion story focusing on that trio down the road.


	3. CHAPTER 2: RESEARCH & PREPARATION

CHAPTER 2: RESEARCH & PREPARATION

In Hermione’s opinion, one of the strangest things Harry Potter had ever done, was make her his dependent and successor. After the Battle of Hogwarts, when it seemed they had won and that the world would right itself, she had assumed he would name Teddy Lupin as his heir. In fact the entire time Hermione had been in Australia, Harry had been with Andromeda and Teddy, learning how to care for his godson and staying out of the public eye. But when she had returned and told Harry the awful truth, he felt unnecessarily responsible for her orphan status and named her legally and magically his sister with all rights of inheritance. Hermione had been sure that it was done more out of gesture than necessity. The war, after all, was over. Harry would be living a long and happy life. It turned out that was only one of many things Hermione had been wrong about last year. 

The witch opened her eyes, her thoughts shifting like waves over memories sixteen years in the future and saw the house elf--technically her house elf--standing before her, his eyes narrowed to slits and shoulders hunched.

“Mistress,” Kreacher hissed, drawing out the last syllable like a snake. He bowed to the floor, bat-like ears flapping either in confusion or discomfort at his muggle surroundings. 

“My name is Hermione Granger, Kreacher. And I’ve asked you here because I need complete and total secrecy,” she said pointedly. “Is that understood?”

He stood and his eyes were still narrowed. “Mistress is not a Black,” he commented with evident distaste.

Hermione nodded and knelt in front of him on the floor. He backed up instantly and started ringing his hands in his smock. 

“You’re correct. I am from a future where there are no Blacks left,” she sighed. “That’s why I’m here, Kreacher. We cannot let that happen. We have to save the Noble and Most Ancient House,” she added, watching the elf’s eyes grow wide.

“Young mistress wants to save the House of Black?” he repeated incredulously.

She simply nodded, eyes fixed on his own. 

“Now, can you tell me how many bonds you feel?” she inquired with a small smile.

Kreacher's ears wiggled as he shut his eyes. “Two. Mistress and young future Mistress,” he croaked while gesturing towards the witch. 

“Thank you, Kreacher. Now I need you to agree to three things before we can begin,” she held up three fingers and started counting off, “One: Please refer to me as Miss Hermione and not mistress. You have a Mistress and I do not intend to take you away from her if I can help it.”

He nodded slowly in agreement.

“Two: You cannot tell anyone about me, unless I give you express permission. So nothing about who I am, why I’m here, what I'm doing, or my bond to you. Is that clear?”

Another nod.

“Three: As our relation is a secret, you cannot appear to me when I am with anyone else.”

Another nod, this one with a bit of determination.

“Brilliant. I knew I could trust you, Kreacher,” she commended and he stared at her in fascination.

Hermione started her instructions, “Now, in order to start saving the House of Black, we have to go back to the task Master Regulus set for you.”

Tears formed in Kreacher’s eyes and he gripped his towel with white knuckles. Hermione reached for his hand, then thought better of it and wound up straightening his smock.

“I know you tried everything you could, Kreacher. I want to help you destroy it,” she vowed.

That evening saw Hermione pouring over several texts that Kreacher had brought her from the Black Family Library. She'd asked him for any books related to horcruxes and after several hours, he had brought three, only one of which she'd read before. He advised the other two had come from the family vault at Gringotts.

When she lived at Grimmauld Place with Harry, she'd gone through every book in the library looking for useful information. By then, the library had already been weeded either by Molly, or Sirius, or another order member and she'd found very little on grey or dark magic. But Hermione had always wondered how Regulus knew about Voldemort’s horcrux. She seriously doubted most wizards even knew such a thing existed and yet by the age of eighteen, Regulus recognized one. 

She remembered when she'd tried to ask Ron his opinion of Regulus' knowledge. It had been during the first two weeks of their horcrux hunt and Harry had been hiding in Sirius' old bedroom looking for more of his godfather’s old correspondence. 

Ron's only suggestion on the matter had been, "Well the bloke was a Slytherin. Maybe they trade immortality secrets for fun like we trade chocolate frog cards."

As per usual, his opinion was decidedly unhelpful. 

Hermione focused back on the text in front of her. Ancient Greek was not her specialty and even with the right translation spell, it was slow going. So far, what she’d found was an argument against Herpo the Foul's work, claiming that a horcrux was an abomination; like dirt, it was an impurity needing to be cleansed. Not helpful, but it was an interesting read. At this rate, she’d be done by three in the morning. Which gave her approximately four hours for sleep if she wanted to be the first person at Gringotts tomorrow morning. A small voice in the back of her mind told her she didn’t have to complete it tonight, but she pushed that aside, along with her need for sleep and anything else that kept her from her mission. 

She searched her beaded bag for the Pick-Me-Up Potion. Setting aside two vials, she focused back on the text, wand in hand. She had work to do. 

oooOooo

Hermione’s uncertainty tripled as she walked through the golden double doors of Gringotts. The last two visits she’d made to this establishment had gone completely pear-shaped. The latter being after Harry and Ginny’s funeral and the former being their burglary and subsequent escape on the back of a dragon. This encounter had an equal opportunity to end up in shambles, but she crossed her fingers in hopes to get lucky on the third try. 

She was the first person inside the establishment that day, which was a good sign, and when she saw the Head Goblin walk into his office, he was not the same as the one she’d last met in 1999, which was also a good sign. Much like the future Bank Head, this one wore a suit and tie of deep plum. Hermione could see the glint of armor that he wore in place of a vest and internally, she admitted the display was impressive. 

“We have no record of any vault or holdings for you, Miss Hermione Granger,” he uttered by way of greeting before he even sat at the desk. 

The witch waited for him to take his seat and then sat opposite him, hoping she looked sincere.

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry to take up your time this morning but I’ve found myself in a curious situation,” she hinted. She noted his ears twitched when she addressed him. “I was hoping you may be able to assist me, Mister… I’m sorry, may I ask your name?” she inquired. 

Hermione could see she had peaked the goblin’s interest as he leaned further towards the desk. Although whether he was simply marvelling over her polite manner or curious about her situation she could only guess. 

“I am Hurock, Head Goblin of Gringotts,” he stated flatly. “What, may I ask, do you think requires my assistance?”

“A pleasure to meet you, Hurock,” she greeted before plowing on, “I recently discovered I have a genealogical link to a well-known wizarding family and believe I may have access to their vault.”

The goblin immediately pulled a blank form, a quill with a sharp nib, and a ledger from his desk drawer. He passed Hermione the quill and form and she was pleased she did not need to further explain what she needed. Her pleasure was short-lived though as she remembered she had last seen these same implements when Harry’s will had been read. 

To hide her shudder, she picked up the quill and hastily poked her left index finger before signing her name to the form in her own blood. Hurock’s eyes narrowed at her as she passed the form back to him. 

They narrowed further as he ran his long finger over his ledger then widened comically as he looked up at her. 

“You have the magical access to the Potter vaults,” he hissed, baring his teeth to her. “But you have never been listed as an heir.”

Hermione nodded, knowing this would be the case. 

Hurock cocked his head to the left and searched her face. “Your blood will give you access to the Potter vault and properties,” he confirmed slowly. “But it seems you are not interested in those things.”

“Indeed. I merely needed you to see that I have a vested interest in this bank as a vault holder,” she informed him.

The Head Goblin continued to peer at her through narrowed eyes. He steepled his fingers and commented, “You are a very interesting witch.”

“Thank you,” she said politely. Hermione chose to take it as a compliment as she remembered Griphook once saying something similar to Harry. “Now, sir, I know your time is valuable. I have three purposes in your establishment today. The first is a simple question to see if you hire out cursebreakers.” She set her hands in her lap, surreptitiously crossing her fingers.

“Gringotts cursebreakers are only used by the bank and for the bank,” he hissed. “Unless, of course, there is a hoard of treasure you’d be willing to share.” He gazed at her meaningfully.

She sighed. She had expected his answer but still held some hope. Her primary concern was getting the ring out of the Gaunt shack without winding up like Dumbledore. 

“Do you ever hire out or do you have anyone you could recommend outside of the bank?” she inquired.

Hurock merely shook his head in a jerky fashion and started tapping his long fingernails on the desktop. He seemed to have lost interest now that Hermione was not going to provide a treasure trove. 

“Alright, my second purpose here is a more delicate matter,” she admitted, looking down at her hands. “There is something in this bank that is a dangerous artefact. It is, for lack of a more powerful term, pure evil,” she spoke quietly and lifted her head to Hurock so he could see her honesty. His brow was lowered, but he still tapped his fingers on the desk. “It is not in the Potter vault, but I know who holds it. The owner of the vault was holding the item for Lord Voldemort in hopes of bringing him back to power,” she added calmly, although her own heart felt as if it was beating somewhere in her throat. 

Hurock flinched at Voldemort’s name and his fingers stilled, but he otherwise did not move or speak.

“My question to you as Head Goblin, is whether Gringotts cares about such evil being stowed beneath its illustrious roof. I know the wars of wizards are not much of your concern, but will you allow Voldemort’s cursed property to linger amongst your own brethren?” Hermione asked, hoping Hurock would see the danger in such an artefact.

The Head Goblin inhaled through his teeth, “What would you suggest we do with it, wand wielder? Give it to you?” 

The witch shook her head so violently her curls tossed back and forth atop her head. “Unfortunately, the only way to remove the evil from the artifact is to destroy it completely. Trust me, I have no intention of keeping the item for myself,” she advised.

“Trust you?” the goblin sneered and Hermione held out both her hands in peace.

“I know you have no reason to do so. But I will tell you what the item is and the vault in which it rests as an act of good faith,” she offered.

He traced a long finger down to his pointed chin and fixed her with a calculating stare. 

“One week,” he rasped. “Meet me here next Monday and I will tell you the bank’s decision.”

She nodded her agreement before continuing, “My last order of business is to see the Last Will and Testament of James and Lily Potter. Will I need to file a formal request?”

For the first time since seeing her magic and blood match that of the Potter vault, Hurock looked back down at the ledger on his desk. He hunched slightly in his seat and Hermione knew the answer before he spoke.

“We do not have the Potter’s will,” he spoke bluntly.

“You’re sure?” she pleaded, feeling quite dejected.

Apparently this was the wrong response, as Hurock stood from his seat and reached for the sword hilt that was hidden under his suit jacket.

“Do you not think I know the business of this establishment? Do you think you are the first person to come asking for such a thing?,” he growled.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” she apologized hurriedly. She itched for her wand, just as a level of protection, but knew it would only make this situation worse. “I did not mean to insinuate it was a failing of you or Gringotts that the will was not here,” she babbled and watched him release the hilt of the sword. He did not sit and Hermione knew their meeting was hastily coming to an end.

“To my knowledge, the Last Will and Testament of James and Lily Potter has never been found or read,” he grunted, before motioning her to stand and proceed him to the door.

Hermione walked out of the bank mentally rearranging her To-Do list to include  _ Find the Potter’s Will _ .


	4. CHAPTER 3: SINCERITY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized Chapter 2 was entirely from Hermione's perspective - so I thought I'd upload the next one a bit faster than normal.

CHAPTER 3: SINCERITY

Severus flipped through yet another book in the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts Library and yet again found no information. The only reference he’d seen was in his own copy of Magick Moste Evile, and that was to simply state a horcrux was so evil a thing, it wouldn’t be mentioned. Quite pointless, really. At this rate, he’d have only two options: contact Lucius for access to the Malfoy library or search out more books in Knockturn Alley. Lucius and Narcissa were his friends, but like any true Slytherin, Snape knew that he’d have to come up with a lie to use their library; he certainly was not about to let on he didn’t know something. After all, lack of knowledge was a weakness and any weakness could be exploited. 

So it seemed he had one option. After skimming three more books, Severus walked back to the apparition point outside the Hogwarts’ gates, not seeing another soul. He turned on the spot and immediately frowned at the sights, sounds, and unfortunate smells of Knockturn Alley. There was a slight drizzle and he hurried to the first bookshop he saw, The Weathered Tome. 

Like everything in Knockturn, nothing was clearly labeled in the shop. One simply had to know what they were looking for or risk asking the proprietor. It provided both anonymity and plausible deniability, something Severus both appreciated and hated in equal measure. He had been in this particular shop before, although not since last summer and he was surprised to find the place slightly more organized. At least in this establishment, the books were all on shelves and not stacked in random haphazard piles. 

Snape turned left at the first set of shelves and started to browse. Without knowing exactly what a horcrux was, only what it wasn’t, he knew he was likely looking for a very old and very dark book. He methodically worked his way to the end of the shelf and turned into the next row only to almost bump into the shop keeper who was shelving books while kneeling on the floor. 

The man had sandy brown hair and stood slowly as if his joints ached. He apologized for being in the way but was looking distractedly at the last book in his hand. 

Snape went rigid, his hands balling into fists. He knew that voice. Why did that werewolf have to be here of all places? Snape quickly scanned his memory of his last full-moon harvest and determined the next full moon was in two days. No wonder the man appeared achy. 

He had last seen Lupin at Lily’s funeral. Snape had arrived late, stood in the back, and left as his friend’s body was magically placed into the ground. He had only noticed Remus Lupin because he was the only person in the front row with Dumbledore. How dare this man be here and force him to remember that day. 

Severus scoffed and whirled away back towards the exit. He thought he heard Lupin call his name just as he pushed the door open and staggered outside into the rain.

oooOooo

“Good morning. Could you tell me where I might find The Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office?” Hermione asked politely to the guard in the ministry atrium. 

“The what?” he asked, clearly puzzled.

“The Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office. I think there’s a worker there, last name Weasley or maybe Perkins,” she hinted, trying to sound equally confused. She wasn’t a very good liar, which was unfortunate when she had to feign ignorance. Hermione detested ignorance.

The guard looked at a thick ledger and turned several pages. “I’ve got a Weasley here, department is listed as Muggle Things-comma-research,” he offered.

Hermione winced when he actually said the word ‘comma.’ But she screwed a smile onto her face and nodded. She was then given directions to the Improper Use of Magic Office on the second floor and scurried away to the lifts, sincerely hoping that man had not been the guard when there was a war on. 

After several wrong turns, and one near escape from a still paranoid Auror Moody, she finally found the tiny office tucked away at the end of a dreary hallway. She screwed up her courage, knowing she was about to see a face she'd last seen in a coffin one year prior. She knocked quietly and heard a voice bid her to enter. 

At first, Hermione's only thought was that Arthur's hair was all wrong. It was still Weasley red of course, but much thicker and longer, similar to how Harry wore his in fourth year. But his face was so achingly familiar. Arthur Weasley was the first person she'd seen in this time period, and truly the first in many months, that reminded her of comfort. All of the many emotions she kept tamped down in a padlocked chest inside her mind threatened to break loose. Intense grief rivaled pure joy and for a moment she was truly speechless. 

"May I help you?" Arthur asked politely while he stood from his desk. After getting no immediate response, he added, "You look a bit lost."

He peered at her curiously and Hermione felt the strangest urge to laugh. His face had the same look he used when trying to figure out how a muggle electronic worked. 

She coughed to cover the hysterical chuckle blooming in her chest, "Sorry, sir. I'm looking for Arthur Weasley."

She allowed herself a quick glance around the room. It was tiny. The two office chairs touched backs when pushed out from their corresponding desks. Some sort of filing system was stuck to the wall though it did not seem to help the piles of paper and small muggle gadgets strewn over both work spaces. Luckily the other occupant was not currently in the office.

"You've found him," Arthur said genially. "Though I haven't the foggiest why you're looking for me."

She fixed her gaze back on the wizard and smiled, "I'm Hermione Granger, sir. I'm contacting various departments in hopes of gaining an internship for ministry experience."

In truth, Hermione had no strong desire to work for the ministry again. But unless she wanted to risk trespassing and burglary, she needed to befriend someone who had access to Scabbers.

"You want an internship? Here? In muggle artefacts?" Arthur was clearly bewildered. 

She nodded enthusiastically and his eyes narrowed. Maybe she was too eager? She decided to give him some truth. 

"You see, I'm muggle born, sir. And really, muggles need as much protection from us as we do from them," she explained.

He gazed at her thoughtfully, then motioned around the cramped space. "I'm afraid our office is fairly new and rather small, Miss Granger. We don't exactly have the space or budget for another employee," he shrugged apologetically. 

"Please, call me Hermione," she instructed. "I hope I'm not offending you by inquiring if you or your fellow worker," she motioned to the empty desk, "are muggle born."

Arthur shook his head. "Neither of us are, actually."

"Perhaps you would consider someone part-time then? Even if you simply need an assistant when you travel into the muggle world, I'd be grateful for the experience, Mr. Weasley."

"You're sure? The Ministry offers several other internship and apprentice programs that are more lucrative and," he paused here, likely trying to find the best way to politely describe the lack of government interest in his own work, "well, certainly more competitive."

Hermione looked down at her feet, attempting to appear embarrassed. "Well, you see, Mr. Weasle-."

"Arthur, please," he interjected. 

She looked up with a small grin. "You see, Arthur, the thing is I haven't exactly passed my N.E.W.T.S just yet," she informed him, looking back at her feet. 

"No? You seemed like the go-getter type," he said somewhat thoughtlessly, in Hermione's opinion. 

"Oh, I am!" she insisted, making eye contact again. "I just haven't had the opportunity yet to sit the exams. I've been… away, out of England," 

She trailed off and was sure he would put her muggle born status and recent time out of the country together in relation to the war. 

"I see," he said, eyes searching her face with sadness. "Did you ever attend Hogwarts?"

Hermione sighed, "I did for a few years, but… left early. My parents moved abroad." This was, of course, very accurate. The less lies she had to weave, the better. But she knew Arthur would paint a very different picture than what had actually occurred. 

"Did you take any Muggle Studies courses?" he inquired and she was glad to see he was taking her seriously. 

"Yes. But to be honest, Muggle Studies is a joke," she asserted and watched his eyes widen. "For example, did you know that muggles sent men to walk on the moon less than twenty years ago?"

"The moon?" Arthur reiterated, apparently stunned.

"Yes. Muggles are brilliant with science and mathematics. But you'd never know it if you only took a Muggle Studies course."

She watched the redhead open his mouth, shut it, then open it again. Several seconds went by without any sound escaping his lips at all. 

He finally agreed to contact her the next time he was going out into the field, with the stipulation that she bring him more information regarding muggles going up to the stars.

Hermione heartily agreed. 

oooOooo

Two bookstores later, Snape’s search for information was finally a success. He emerged with a very faded copy of Secrets of the Darkest Art and proceeded to read the entire section related to horcruxes while sitting in the back of The White Wyvern pub with a Notice-Me-Not charm. He usually preferred to leave Knockturn Alley immediately, but his curiosity was too strong. 

He slammed the book shut, feeling uneasy. It was no surprise that The Dark Lord would create a horcrux. He had always spoken of immortality, of the power he wielded that was beyond mortal comprehension. But did Dumbledore know? The elder wizard certainly knew The Dark Lord was not actually gone, but did he know the manner in which their Lord had achieved such a feat? Equally unsettling was the idea that a horcrux could be anything and anywhere. Destroying one was apparently no easy task, but the simple act of finding one could take several lifetimes. The Dark Lord would certainly never share this secret with anyone.

That fact brought him up short. He left the pub and strode down Knockturn Alley, deep in thought. If his former master had told no one about his horcrux, how did Hermione Granger know he had one? He shuddered to think it, but perhaps a prophecy? Could she be a seer?

He stopped at the apothecary to check prices on the more common ingredients and was immediately distracted by that blasted bushy head of hair. Miss Granger was measuring bicorn horn into a jar and thinking about Polyjuice Potion and something called Pick-Me-Up. The latter was completely unfamiliar to him and he once again felt very wary of something this witch knew which he did not. 

Severus scanned the store and found it mostly empty at this time in the afternoon on a Monday. He walked down the aisle towards her and when she noticed him, she did a double take before looking back to her jar and tightening the lid. He heard and felt her thoughts change to empathy and grief, which they had also done upon seeing him at The Leaky Cauldron. But once she lowered the jar, he could no longer hear her surface thoughts and when he tried to dig deeper, he was met with the same castle walls that occluded her mind two nights ago. 

He stood unmoving next to her until the witch turned to face him. 

"Are we addressing each other in public then?" she quipped while her eyes searched for other patrons. Focusing back on him, she added, "You know I cannot address you at all, if I do not know your name."

"I am Professor Severus Snape, Potions Master and Head of Slytherin House at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," he introduced himself as he would in professional circles. 

She did not appear surprised and there was something in her eyes that signaled amusement. He glowered at her.

"A Mastery already? You're quite young. You must be a bit of a prodigy," she complimented him but something about it seemed forced. She was either secretly mocking him or had no desire for small talk. 

"Indeed," he retorted. 

Severus could not get a read on this witch and it was infuriating him. She was occluding all of her thoughts but those deep brown eyes were hiding a thousand secrets. As a Slytherin, he refused to show his cards first on principle, but if she didn't start talking soon, he'd have to do something drastic. 

"You still haven't owled me," she commented seemingly offhand, but the set of her shoulders made him think she was looking for information as much as he was. 

"My apologies," he intoned. "Would you rather I leave now to tend to our correspondence?"

For some reason, his sarcasm amused her. Miss Granger’s eyes widened and the corners of her lips pulled up.

"Not necessary, Professor. I will accept a dictated letter," she shot back, her eyes scanning the store. "But perhaps not at this location."

"Tea then, Miss Granger?" he asked. 

The invitation drew a sincere smile from the short witch and he felt odd. The only person who ever smiled at him was Albus, and that was more out of conspiratorial twinkle than actual enjoyment. 

"Only if you call me Hermione," she instructed. 

He gave her a single nod and proceeded to wait for her as she purchased her ingredients.


	5. CHAPTER 4: FRONTAL LOBOTOMY

CHAPTER 4: FRONTAL LOBOTOMY

Walking down Diagon Alley with Professor Snape was the most bizarre thing Hermione had ever done. If she had listed all the things she thought would happen once she arrived in the past, this would not have made it in the top twenty, possibly not even the top fifty. 

They walked in silence and she glanced at him from the corner of her eye. Even at this age, the man had honed his vampiric appearance. He wore all black and his robes fluttered behind him. His magical power was almost palpable, and it was obvious he knew as much from the way he carried himself. Everything from his surly frown to his black dragonhide boots was meant to intimidate and it had worked on Hermione as a student. But she was no longer his pupil and refused to be cowed. 

"We'd be better off in muggle London. Will it matter if we're seen leaving The Leaky together?" she asked as they neared the end of the Alley. 

He shook his head and didn't break his stride. They marched through the pub and out onto Charing Cross Road with no one seeming to pay them any mind. The Professor faltered, not knowing which direction to turn, and Hermione found it endearing. In one afternoon, she'd already heard the dour man crack a joke and appear unsure. He was human after all. Of course she knew that, given that she was there when he died, but she was trying very hard not to think about how empty and broken he had appeared on that night. 

She removed her outer robe, revealing her muggle clothes underneath. He simply glowered at her, and the familiarity of the look amused her. She directed him to a small café close to her hotel and they settled into a small booth with Black tea. She cast a clandestine _Muffliato_ and Notice-Me-Not. The use of his spell made his lip curl. 

She decided to get straight to the point. "Now then, Professor. I know you overheard my thoughts on Saturday night. What did you hear, what questions do you have, and who have you told?"

She stared into his obsidian eyes, tapping her index finger on her saucer, waiting to see if he would try to deny her.

He was as still as a statue for several seconds, then moved to fix his tea. In the way of every Slytherin everywhere, he did not answer, but instead asked her a question. 

"How do you know I overheard you?"

"You are clearly a legilimens and a very proficient one at that. I felt you trying to search my mind for information both at The Leaky on Saturday and in the apothecary today," she advised, hoping he would accept it and not push more into why she had prior knowledge of him personally. "You know, it's quite rude to constantly read everyone's minds," she huffed at him and arched her eyebrow. 

His eyes narrowed as he picked up his teacup. "Hardly anyone ever notices," he shrugged, unapologetic. He took a quiet sip of tea then advised, "Your occlumency lacks finesse."

Hermione swallowed a comment about his social skills lacking finesse. Instead, she shrugged and added sugar to her tea. She would wait him out if need be; he had to start talking eventually. 

They drank in silence before he started slowly, "I do not know you," he muttered, "but your thoughts suggest you think you know me." His baritone voice was so low, Hermione struggled to hear him. 

"What makes you say that, Professor?" she queried. If he wanted to be aloof and mysterious, well two could play that game. 

He swallowed and clenched his fist on the tabletop as his eyes continued to bore into hers. "Your thoughts are," he paused and seemed to be searching for the correct word, "sympathetic... towards me." His eyes widened after this statement as if speaking it aloud made him realize the truth of his words. 

Hermione's heart stuttered as she realized what he was really saying. Of all the people he interacted with on a daily basis, none of them cared about him, and he knew it. She had never thought about legilimency being a curse as well as a gift, but she couldn't imagine going around all day knowing what other people thought about her on a surface level. 

She gave him a small smile and nod. This man deserved better. Like Harry, society had attached a label to Severus Snape that he wore until the day he died. He was a hero who had worked tirelessly and thanklessly to end a war, yet no one knew. He had been the perfect spy, allowing others to make their own opinions and never showing his true depth of feeling or his love for Lily Evans. Hermione mentally rearranged her list of 'Things to Change' to include _Rescue Professor Snape_ , possibly even from himself. 

Thinking of Lily allowed her mind to fit the pieces together. 

"You heard me think of Lily, didn't you? You overheard me thinking of Harry- her son," she guessed, trying to read his expression. 

He set his teacup down silently on the saucer and nodded. 

"You want to protect her son."

Another stiff nod. 

He then pulled something from his pocket and scanned the room before enlarging it on the seat beside him. He placed the worn black book delicately on the table.

Hermione sighed. "What exactly did you overhear?" she asked, looking from the dark book to his face. 

"You mentioned Petunia and said you would destroy the horcrux," he murmured, slipping the book back out of sight onto the seat beside him. 

She pursed her lips. This required further information.

Clasping her hands on the slightly tacky table top, she asked, "Professor, what has Dumbledore told you about Lily's son?

Several beats passed and Hermione again felt him trying to force his way past her occlumency shields. Her frown mirrored his own. 

"Only that he is alive, but will be in danger once The Dark Lord returns," he sighed. 

"Does Dumbledore know why Voldemort is not actually dead?"

He flinched at hearing the name and he folded his arms across his chest before replying, "Not that he's told me. I believe he has several theories."

"Will you tell him?"

Black eyes flickered back and forth between her own. "Are you suggesting there's a reason not to do so?"

Hermione's fingernails clicked a staccato rhythm along the handle of her teacup. She had asked herself that question many times in the preceding months and had no clear answer, only a gut feeling that Dumbledore mettled too much and never in Harry's best interest.

"I'm not sure, honestly," she huffed. "But nothing good will happen for Lily's son."

The only part of his body that moved was his eyes, which narrowed infinitesimally. 

She continued, "You heard the prophecy but only the first half." She watched his face turn even paler and his arms tighten around himself. "Dumbledore is the only person who heard the entire prophecy and yet he's content leaving Lily's son with muggles…" she trailed off, unclear how to discuss the Headmaster's flaws without giving too much away. 

The raven haired wizard uncurled his arms and slowly set his hands on the table, palms down. "Muggles… Petunia," he murmured, staring at his hands, clearly solving his own puzzle. 

"I know you're Dumbledore's man, Professor," she admitted softly. "But if his main goal was Harry's protection, wouldn't he want the child with wizards? Someone who could protect him in the magical world where he is in the most danger? You and I both know Petunia wanted nothing to do with Lily. Why would Dumbledore assume she wants anything to do with his son?" 

He stared at her, but at least he wasn't glaring or leaving. Hermione decided to do something that felt natural, but surely meant she'd gone round the twist. She reached out and placed her hand comfortingly on his own. 

Professor Snape flinched as if he'd been electrocuted. 

She forged on, "I know you and Lily were friends. I would simply caution you that the Headmaster may not have her--or her son's--best interest at heart. Dumbledore is an amazing wizard, but he cares only for the greater good."

Saying this sparked something in Hermione's mind. It was fleeting, but it gave her pause. There was a connection there. But to what? She chased her own thoughts until the wizard interrupted.

"How do you know this?" he asked, and his voice was tired. He had averted his stony gaze to her hand atop his own. 

"I can't tell you that. At least not yet," she admitted, cringing internally at the feebleness of the response.

He pulled his hand out from under hers as he grumbled, “Can’t or won’t?”

“Both,” she conceded. “I know you don’t know me from Morgana. You don’t trust me. But please believe my thoughts.” She paused to stare directly into his eyes, intending to convey sincerity. “I want to help Lily’s son.”

Hermione started counting in her head and had reached 57 seconds before he moved or said anything. She honestly wasn’t even sure if he was breathing. 

Professor Snape reached for his teacup and asked, “What is Pick-Me-Up?”

She blinked twice at the change of subject before answering. “A potion of my own invention which crosses an Invigoration Draught with a Wit-Sharpening Potion.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed. “Not possible. The vervain infusion would counteract the newt spleens.”

“It would… if I didn’t add the bicorn horn as a coagulant and reduce the-”

“Peppermint,” Snape finished. His affect was still flat, but he shifted towards her slightly.

Hermione nodded and took a vial of Pick-Me-Up Potion from her bag, rolling it across the table towards him.

He uncorked the orange liquid curiously and inhaled its scent. He raised his eyebrows a fraction at the witch.

“Without the peppermint it needed a better flavor. Orange zest was the best alternative as it didn’t negate the active ingredients,” she explained in answer to his unspoken question regarding the citrusy scent. Internally, her school-aged self was doing a delightful jig in thanks of having an academic discussion with Professor Snape.

He held the vial to the light, observing the clarity. “Why make this?”

“I was actually trying to perfect Pepperup Potion, so that there was no steamy side-effect,” she motioned towards her ears, “and this was my fourth attempt.”

“Were you able to correct the Pepperup?” 

Hermione may have imagined the hint of curiosity in his tone. “Not yet,” she said with a small grin. 

“How long have you been brewing?”

“Almost nine years.” She was starting to feel like this was a game of twenty questions.

"You did not brew at Hogwarts, so where did you start?"

"Hampstead." She really had started the second she opened her First Year Potions textbook back in her childhood home, but she also knew the answer would confuse him. 

“When did you first brew Polyjuice?”

She allowed a mysterious smile to cross her face. “When I was thirteen.”

That answer resulted in several blinks from the dour man.

“And when did you find out about the horcrux?” The question was asked in the same manner as all his others, but his shoulders raised a few millimeters.

“Three years ago.” Hermione saw an opportunity and lunged for it. “Tell me, Professor, did you have any direct dealings with Regulus Black?”

She watched his eyes widen as his mind tried to process the connections and implications of what she had shared and what was still going unsaid. 

“We were… friendly at school. We both joined The Dark Lord, but Regulus disappeared shortly after…” he trailed off and shifted slightly to cover his left forearm where Hermione knew the Dark Mark was still branded onto his skin.

“It may interest you to know that Regulus also wanted out. He had discovered the Dark Lord’s secret.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Hermione raised her eyebrow in challenge and knew what would come next. She again felt pressure on her occlumency shields and managed to sneak out a single memory, the memory of her looking at and reading Regulus’ note that he’d left in the fake horcrux. 

Professor Snape hissed at the memory before digging harder for more information. The witch gripped the edge of the table and exhaled through clenched teeth. It felt like someone taking a battering ram to her frontal lobe.

“Must you do that, Professor?” Hermione gasped.

She felt one more push before he retreated from her mind. 

He frowned at her, or possibly at his cold tea. “Why do you insist on calling me by my title?” 

She noted his deflection but opted to overlook it for now. Instead, she primly pointed out, “You have not invited me to use any other name. What would you prefer? Mr. Snape?”

The man’s face remained stoic. “Snape, will suffice. Or Severus, if you must,” he replied drily.

It wasn’t on her list, but somehow the man’s offer felt like an accomplishment all on its own.


	6. CHAPTER 5: SENSE MAKING

CHAPTER 5: SENSE MAKING

That evening found Severus firmly ensconced in the sitting room at Spinner’s End with a large snifter of brandy. He didn’t think there was enough elf-made wine in Britain to make sense of what had occurred this afternoon. 

Hermione Granger was an enigma, an anomaly. The knowledge she had was impossible. The more he thought about her and what she’d told him, the more irritated he became. The witch was an unknown variable and Severus detested the unknown. He could not plan for the unknown. He decided to make a mental table: things she’d said that were verifiable facts, and things that were unknown.

The first fact was that letter from Regulus. Severus recognized the handwriting. There’s no way the witch could make a false memory that accurate. So she certainly had prior knowledge of a horcrux. Of course, the question remained as to how Regulus knew, but Snape doubted he’d ever have an answer. 

Second fact: she’d known he’d overheard the prophecy that pointed The Dark Lord towards Lily. Oddly, he’d sensed no judgement from Hermione over this action. Up until today, he’d thought the only person to know his greatest mistake had been Dumbledore. He felt positive that Albus had not told anyone. So while she knew the truth, he still had no idea how.

Another fact, although it did not come from their conversation as much as her appearance and choice of locale - Severus was certain Hermione was muggle born. A pureblood witch would not go into the muggle world for anything and a half-blood would still feel more comfortable in the wizarding world. But this only led to more questions: How did a muggle born know Regulus Black? Why did she have such distaste for the Headmaster? Although it could be the reason he’d never seen her before Saturday.

Lastly, although he felt odd to admit it, was the fact that the witch felt some sort of benevolence towards him. In those moments he had caught her off guard, before her occlumency shields shuttered her mind, she was concerned about him. The last person who had shown him any genuine concern had been Lily, and that was over six years ago. 

The list of unknowns was equal to the facts. How much, or if, Dumbledore cared about Lily’s son, why she, as a muggle born, didn’t trust Albus, how she was a competent brewer but one he’d never seen or heard of, or how she knew Lily’s son was with Petunia - all of these were disturbing unknowns. 

It seemed to Severus that his path forward would not be clear until he had more information. But Miss Granger had already told him she would not provide him more details. Should he go to Albus with this new knowledge? He thought again over what he knew to be true about Hermione Granger and made a decision just as he reached the bottom of his glass.

oooOooo

“Yes, this will do nicely,” Hermione advised the rental agent as she looked out the window of the small flat in Diagon Alley. She could see the building that would one day hopefully still be Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes and her melancholy smile bloomed in nostalgia. 

She had got around most of the paperwork by offering to pay six months up front in cash and luckily the landlord’s agent wasn’t asking many questions. After signing a form and handing over the galleons she was left alone in the small space. It was furnished, but she set about transfiguring most of the furniture to her taste. There was a small breakfast table with two chairs, a loveseat, a coffee table, and two armchairs. One side of the living area had a small bookcase which she expanded to cover the entire wall. The opposite side shared a wall with a small kitchenette. A fireplace occupied the third wall and a small clock sat ticking noisily on the mantle. Part of that wall was taken by a short hallway in the back, which led to the bathroom and rather small bedroom. It would do. 

After setting a variety of wards and silencing charms on every wall, window, floor, and ceiling, she started unpacking her books. Hermione had worked her way through half of her nonfiction collection when she heard a small cough. She jumped and her lungs pushed themselves into her throat. In less than a second she had her wand trained on the intruder before she acknowledged it was Kreacher. 

"Miss Hermione," he bowed to the floor. 

She hastily stowed her wand and sat in one of the armchairs. "Rule number four, Kreacher: No bowing is required," she instructed while smiling at the elf.

He nodded before coming forward with Slytherin’s locket. Hermione took it from him and laid it on the coffee table, shivering at the too familiar feel of the horcrux. As always, it was cold; the metal never warming to anyone's touch. 

“Can you feel it, Kreacher?” she asked quietly, unconsciously asking a question she had wondered about several times.

“Kreacher feels the evil, Miss. He tried and tried to destroy it, but it has been weighing heavy in Kreacher’s heart and home for many years,” he said gruffly, looking towards the large necklace. 

Hermione once again acknowledged the unfair heavy burden that was placed on house elves. 

“I’m sorry you had to deal with it alone for so many years, Kreacher,” she whispered.

He merely shrugged, but still would not take his eyes from the locket. 

The witch cast a _germinio_ and duplicated the necklace, setting the copy in the elf’s small hands. 

“Here. Something to remember Regulus by. You served him very well,” Hermione assured him, gently using her own hand to curl Kreacher’s small fingers around the locket.

He looked up at her with narrow tear-filled eyes. 

“Miss said she would destroy it. Said she would finish the job that Kreacher could not,” he accused. 

“Yes, Kreacher, I will. But I cannot do so here. This is not the only evil that needs to be vanquished and I need to gather other artefacts like this one.”

Several seconds passed before he blurted, “Kreacher will help finish the job.”

Hermione looked at him, puzzling over his statement. “I thought you could find no way to destroy the locket?”

He sneered at her, clearly thinking the witch was being obtuse on purpose.

“Kreacher will help gather the other artefacts. Kreacher will help finish Master Regulus’ good work.”

She shook her head. “I can’t let you do that, Kreacher. Some of these artefacts are guarded heavily, or have powerful curses laid on them. It would be too dangerous,” she explained.

“More dangerous than being in the cave of dead things?” he inquired honestly.

“In some ways, yes,” she advised. “A dark wizard made you go through unspeakable horrors. I would never ask that of you.”

“Miss does not need to ask. Kreacher volunteers,” he stated, standing to his full height and looking up into her face. 

Hermione was strongly reminded of a certain hobbit gardener from  Lord of the Rings. 

She was about to protest further when a weasel patronus launched itself through the window above her kitchen sink. 

Arthur's voice echoed in the small flat, "Miss Granger. I'll be heading to a pub this afternoon to investigate some tap tampering. If you're available, please meet me in the ministry atrium at one o'clock today."

After checking the time, she attempted to respond but her patronus wouldn't form. She huffed as she stood and tried again, with no result. 

"Does Miss need Kreacher to deliver a message?" the elf asked after watching her struggle. 

Hermione grit her teeth, "No, thank you. That will be all for today. I'll think about your offer and be in touch with you soon."

The moment he disappeared, the witch sunk back into the armchair. She eyed the horcrux with disdain, then moved to her beaded bag and pulled out her small wooden box. Using her wand, she cut her own palm and used her blood to unlock the lid. She pushed the defunct time turner to one side, then placed the locket beside it and resealed the box, adding several additional runes for protection, some in her own blood. After all her time hiding at Grimmauld Place and in the Department of Mysteries, she had become quite proficient at blood wards. 

Now that Hermione could breath easier, she sat back on the armchair and calmly recited, "Expecto Patronum."

She achieved silver mist, which was more than she'd managed previously, but still her playful otter eluded her. 

The last time Hermione had cast a patronus had been seven months prior in an attempt to summon Auror backup to Hogsmeade. It had been the same day The First Circle made their final attack. The same day the village was razed to the ground. The same day Harry and Ginny were murdered. 

Hermione could still feel the heat of the fire and hear the screams of the villagers. She could still smell the ashes as they swirled into icy puddles and see the shocking green light of those deadly spells as they arched over rapidly melting snow. And then there was numbing silence. 

She looked at the clock and realized 45 minutes had passed. Logically, this loss of time was something that should have worried her, but her concerns were fixed on more pressing matters, such as finding a Pick-Me-Up Potion and getting to the Ministry in the next five minutes. She added _Fix my Patronus_ to her constantly expanding To-Do list as she again grabbed for her beaded bag.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is the shortest chapter in the whole story - so I'll plan to upload another tomorrow. Just for funsies.


	7. CHAPTER 6: I THINK I SMELL A RAT

CHAPTER 6: I THINK I SMELL A RAT

"I'll write up the report when I’m back in the office," Arthur advised as he followed the crowd out the exit. 

The tap tampering turned out to be taps which were charmed to pour automatically if you said the name of the beverage within a certain distance, installed at a muggle pub. Thus, whenever someone gave an order, the taps started flowing automatically. Arthur had initially looked like a kid in a candy store, but when he remembered Hermione was with him, he managed to get down to business.

"Thanks again for your help, Hermione," he exclaimed as they slowly climbed the stairs up to street level. 

Truthfully, the only help Hermione had provided was a steady stream of explanations about anything and everything muggle. 

"You're sure you'll be alright?" she asked for the third time. The green tinge of his skin clashed horribly with his hair. 

He nodded slightly, bright blue eyes contrasting with the tightness of his mouth. "It was amazing!"

She sighed internally and added  _ Make Anti-Nausea Potion _ to her list of things To-Do. Put most wizards on a broom many meters above the ground and they were perfectly fine. But put a wizard underground on The Tube and suddenly it's all chaos and motion sickness.

"Can I at least help you with a side-along back to the Ministry? You still look a bit peaky."

Arthur started to shake his head then seemed to think better of any sharp movements. "No. I'm headed home anyway. Promised my wife I'd be home in time to put the kids to bed," he confessed with a small smile. 

"Kids? You haven't mentioned them. How many do you have?" she asked, feigning polite interest. 

"Seven now. Our youngest turns one next week and the eldest will be off to Hogwarts for the first time this September." 

Hermione smiled at the evident pride in his tone. 

They reached the top of the stairs and steered into a nearby alley to get away from the crush of commuters. 

"First time to Hogwarts," she spoke wistfully, "I remember that day. Seems like a lifetime ago."

"You're telling me," he teased, "Makes me feel like an old man. How did your parents handle it?"

Hermione leaned against the bricks of the alley wall, her heart sinking down into her stomach. She tried to look up at Arthur, but only managed his shoulder. 

"It was very hard," she murmured, struggling not to drown in misery, guilt, and regret. "I'm an only child and being muggles, my parents had less time to mentally prepare for the idea of boarding school, let alone a magical education."

"I'm sure it was odd, discovering they had a witch in the family," he chuckled, not picking up Hermione's mood. "Actually haven't thought about what that must be like for muggle borns," he added thoughtfully. 

The witch's locked chest of emotions was threatening to burst open and she stood very still, mentally wrestling it back into place. 

"Alright there, Hermione?" 

Arthur's voice was garbled as if she were hearing him from underwater. Only when he put a tentative hand on her shoulder did she look up into his face. 

"Sorry," she exhaled, "I haven't seen my mum and dad in two years." Her explanation was accurate, but she hadn't meant for it to slip out.

Hermione cursed her loss of control. Now Arthur was giving her that look. It was the same he'd given her last year when she finally told him and Molly the truth about her parents. 

“Oh. You said they were abroad?” 

She looked down at her hands. “They were,” she stressed the word and its past tense, “abroad, yes. But it’s just me now.”

She felt the gentle squeeze of Arthur’s hand on her shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “You’re so young. Although, I suppose it’s never the right time to lose one’s parents.”

The witch looked up at him only when she was sure she would not cry. She turned her red eyes to the opening of the alley.

“You’d best get home to your kids, Arthur,” she sighed and he removed his hand from her shoulder. 

He did not respond and she peeked back at him, concerned he may actually be sick. Instead, the set of his jaw and brow indicated he was deep in thought. 

“Tell you what,” he began, “Why don’t you come have dinner with us tonight?”

Hermione was torn. She did not look forward to being back at The Burrow, especially after a day like today when upsetting memories loomed in every corner. What she really wanted was to go soak in her new bathtub for several hours and then curl up with some fiction until she passed out from exhaustion. She tended to have fewer dreams when she was completely drained.

But she thought of her list. She thought of all the good that could come from being at The Burrow sooner rather than later. And as per usual, the mission took precedence. 

“You’re sure?” she asked with a small grin. “I don’t want to be any bother. Seven kids is a lot of mouths.” 

Arthur’s eyes were set. “Of course I’m sure. Allow me.” 

He offered his arm and they were sucked into blackness.

They landed at The Burrow’s gate and he gestured her forward to the back door. Hermione struggled to keep her memories from overwhelming her vision. Every picture on the wall, every self-scrubbing pot, every squashy armchair and sofa spoke of warmth and comfort. She had been invited into this home on so many different occasions- weddings, funerals, afternoon teas, holiday breaks from school and had always felt accepted. It was one of the few places in the Wizarding World where that was true.

In the kitchen, a scene of familiar chaos met her eyes. The eldest three boys were attempting to dish up dinner for their three younger brothers while Molly was levitating a spoon of mashed carrots into Ginny’s mouth. Arthur’s appearance led to a resounding chorus of “Dad’s home!” 

He introduced her to Molly as “that witch I told you about the other day,” and the woman immediately invited her to sit and eat. Arthur held a hushed conversation with his wife, while the ginger woman looked sadly at Hermione, then helped the boys finish filling their plates. As soon as everyone was settled, he introduced each of the children. 

Hermione couldn’t help but chuckle as she observed Ron shoveling potatoes into his mouth faster than he could chew. Apparently some things never did change. She watched Arthur keep a suspicious eye on Fred and George who were attempting a secret conversation further down the table until Molly interrupted. 

"So Arthur’s told me you’re interested in a career at the Ministry, dear. Do you live nearby?" she asked kindly. 

"Actually I just rented a flat in Diagon Alley," she confided to the older witch. "I’m settling in, although it seems very quiet compared to your home," she added genially, glancing at the children around the table. 

Molly smiled warmly at her brood. “I’m afraid we’ll never have quiet again,” she admitted conspiratorially.

Hermione then heard a voice call from her left, "How old are you?" 

She turned to see Bill and Charlie staring at her expectantly while Percy seemed appalled at their daring to address a strange adult. 

She smiled at Bill, who she assumed had asked. "How old do you think I am?" she offered mysteriously. 

"Well, you're definitely old. Only old people don't want to tell you their age," he reasoned, his lips turned into a pout. 

She chuckled at his youthful logic while Molly admonished him about asking a woman her age. 

Bill looked further down the table to his mother and whined, "But she's pretty and I want to go to Hogwarts with her."

Hermione choked on her carrots and had a coughing fit that lasted much too long. Whoever would have thought that Bill, whom Hermione at age fourteen had thought to be quite fit, would be a ladies man at age eleven. After several gulps of water and embarrassed laughter, she explained that she was soon to be twenty and too old to attend school. She couldn’t help but remind him to focus on his studies, not girls. Conversation then flowed freely amongst the family members and soon Molly headed upstairs to put Ginny and Ron to bed. 

Arthur and the boys invited her outside to look at their makeshift quidditch pitch. Bill, Charlie, Fred, and George talked over each other, all trying to assure her they were the best flyer. When she admitted she hadn't flown until she was twelve, they were incensed and took off to the shed with Arthur to get out the brooms. 

Hermione was left with a shy Percy who was sitting on the back step, so she plunked down next to him with what she hoped was an encouraging smile. "I'm not into quidditch myself," she explained, "I much prefer a book." 

Percy gave her a timid smile. "Me neither," he mumbled.

"What are you interested in then?" she asked the almost-six year old. 

"I like books. I like helping my mum. I like bugs and fish and other animals," he blurted, looking a bit shocked at his own display of verbosity. 

"What do you like about them?" she asked earnestly. Hermione was truly intrigued, having not expected this answer from the straight-laced redhead. 

Percy sat in thought for a moment and then very slowly said, "I like the details. The shape of the letters in the words on a page. Or the flash of scales on a fish and the patterns in how they swim."

"Sounds like you might enjoy having a pet," she commented, seemingly offhand. 

"Oh, I've got a pet!" Percy exclaimed loudly. He jumped up and ran inside as Arthur and the other boys returned with two brooms. 

Hermione admired the brooms. The boys were certainly proud of them, even though Bill admitted they weren't the latest models. Bill and Charlie had started to hover a few feet above the ground while Arthur tried to round up Fred and George for bed. Molly came to gather the twins just as Percy came back with a large rat. 

Hermione forced down her anger as she observed Pettigrew in the hands of this child. The man alone had ruined many lives and the fact that he took advantage of the Weasley children disturbed her more as an adult than it ever had as a child.

"Tell me about your rat," she suggested to Percy, as she surreptitiously cast an anti-apparition jinx -just to be safe- with the wand up her sleeve. 

He pointed out the long whiskers and tail, then made special note of how the rat seemed to be missing part of a toe on his front paw. 

"Did you know that most muggles keep pet rats in cages?" she asked in effort to keep him talking. 

Percy was dumbfounded by this and explained that it had taken several weeks to catch this rat, who kept appearing in their garden under the kitchen window. On a particularly cold winter day, the rat had allowed the boy to take him inside, and he'd been there ever since. Percy seemed upset that someone would think to cage an animal. 

"I'll show you what I mean. Don't worry, we won't hurt him," Hermione offered in consolement. She quickly transfigured a nearby stone into a large metal cage complete with a running wheel and most importantly, an unbreakable charm. It was roughly the size of her body. 

Hermione then harnessed her Gryffindor bravery and did something she never imagined she would ever do. 

She asked to hold the rat.

As soon as Percy dropped the animal into her hands she shrieked and shoved it into the cage, closing the lid. She motioned for Arthur who jogged to her side. "This is not a rat!" she hissed at him. "This is an animagus!"

Arthur instantly paled. "What? Why? How… how do you know?" he stammered. 

The rat started squeaking furiously, looking for an exit while Hermione firmly asked Bill and Charlie to go get Molly. 

She turned to Percy who was glaring at her, his face turning red. "See?! Rats shouldn't be in cages! He hates it! Let him out!" he yelled indignantly, not quite grasping the exchange between the adults. 

Hermione laid a gentle hand on his shoulder and looked between him and Arthur. "I promised you I wouldn't hurt him, Percy, and I meant that," she said softly over the sound of panicked rat squeaks. "Human transfiguration to animals is quite dangerous. It takes a certain level of skill and that much magic leaves traces," she said while looking to both Weasleys to check for understanding. "I was trying to become an animagus, so I am familiar with the magic and know the necessary spells. That must be why I recognized the trace on your rat."

Hermione convinced herself that lying to a child in this case was necessary. Besides, she had looked into becoming an animagus in the Spring, so it wasn't entirely a lie. The act itself though was too time consuming compared to her mission and now was kept on one of her lesser used lists: 'Things to try once I've got the time.'

She pulled her wand from its holster just as Molly, Bill, and Charlie came outside. The frightened squeaks became pitifully loud. Hermione motioned for the family to stand to her left side, with the cage on her right. 

"I'm going to cast the spell to reverse the transfiguration," she explained. "If he truly is a rat, it won't hurt him," she added for Percy's benefit. 

One spell later and Peter Pettigrew was smashed into a cage with a hamster wheel lodged in his oversized gut. 

"Wicked!" Charlie whispered under his breath. 


	8. CHAPTER 7: FACT FINDING

CHAPTER 7: FACT FINDING

“Didn’t I see you yesterday?” Alastor Moody growled at Hermione, his blue eye flicking furiously between the witch and the stunned man in the rat cage she’d helped levitate into the Auror office.

She thought briefly about feigning ignorance, but imagined most people who saw Mad-Eye Moody didn’t forget it. 

“Yes, you did, sir,” she nodded and motioned to the redheaded wizard at her side, “I was looking for Arthur Weasley.”

“Found him, then,” Moody grunted then kicked the cage. “Who else did you find?”

Arthur cleared his throat. “We believe this is Peter Pettigrew.” 

The auror’s eyes narrowed on the pudgy man, his blue eye appearing to scan the prone wizard from head to toe. Hermione grimaced, still unclear as to exactly how many layers of clothing the wizard could see through. 

“He’s an animagus,” she interjected. “Apparently he’s been living as a rat in the Weasley’s home for several months. He was pretending to be a child’s familiar.” She shuddered at the thought of Wormtail sleeping in a bedroom with children for years.

Mad-Eye moved his normal eye over to Hermione, keeping the blue one firmly on Pettigrew.

“You know he’s supposed to be-”

“Dead,” she supplied. “Yes, I know. I remember the story in the newspaper.” She stared hard at the auror and raised her eyebrow, willing him to put the pieces together, “I can’t imagine why he’s been hiding for the last nine months.”

He shifted his magical eye to her and glared. 

"I certainly hope you'll be questioning his supposed killer," Hermione added. 

Arthur coughed in an apparent attempt to diffuse the tension. "Are there forms I should fill out? Do you require some type of testimony or witness statement?"

"Which of you actually caught him?" Mad-Eye inquired gruffly as he continued to glare at Hermione. 

"I did," she confessed. 

Moody called for another Auror to get a copy of Arthur's memory. He motioned for Arthur to head down the hall and indicated he could press trespassing charges if he wished. 

"Now, girlie, you best come with me," he instructed as he levitated the cage into an interrogation room. 

oooOooo

Three days had passed since Severus had tea with Hermione. Three days in which he had been stuck in a wild goose chase trying to track down Petunia Evans. He had tracked what information he could from public records, even sunk so low as to ask the gossipy old ladies in his neighbourhood if they remembered the Evans sisters. 

Yesterday, he'd finally spoke with a neighbour who remembered Petunia marrying a man with the last name Dursley. Thus, Friday morning dawned and he made it his mission to find Petunia and Vernon Dursley. He sat in his kitchen with tea and toast, waiting for the public library to open and heard the familiar sound of today's  _ Prophet  _ being delivered. After paying the owl, he unfurled the paper and nearly choked on his breakfast. 

**Sirius Black Innocent!**

**Peter Pettigrew Alive!**

The two headlines alternated across the top of the newspaper with two large photos of each wizard in Azkaban uniforms.

Severus read the entire article. Then he read it again. If  _ The Prophet  _ was to be believed, which was admittedly a big if, then Pettigrew had been the Death Eater, not Black. Pettigrew had given away the location of The Potters. Why in the name of Salazar, had they trusted Peter Bloody Pettigrew to be a Secret Keeper? If Severus knew the wizard was both spineless and worthless, then surely his supposed friends did as well. 

What struck Snape as odd was the fact that Pettigrew was an animagus. He managed to turn himself into a rat, an animal whose population numbered in the billions, and yet couldn't go an entire year without getting caught. As a rat, he could have gone anywhere in the world, but the idiotic rodent choose to shack up with a British wizarding family and try to live as a child's familiar. Severus found it curious that the article did not give the name of the family, nor did it give specifics on how the rat was actually caught. Perhaps that was done to protect the child. 

He folded the newspaper and wondered what Albus would make of this news. He must have thought Black was the Secret Keeper. But Dumbledore had allowed Black to get away with attempted murder at the age of sixteen. Black was certainly one of the Headmaster's Gryffindor darlings, and part of The Order, and yet Albus had let him sit in Azkaban for nine months. It seemed odd in hindsight that Dumbledore had never suspected the wizard's innocence. Or was that simply the tinted lens that Hermione had raised over the Headmaster's actions?

Snape warmed his cold tea before finishing the cup. He then left the house for the public library, knowing he had work to do. 

Later that evening, Severus found himself walking in Surrey. The homes on Privet Drive were well-kept and modest, but the homogenous nature of the muggle suburbs still made his skin crawl. It was a warm night and most neighbors had their windows thrown wide in hopes of tempting a breeze. 

The wizard had disillusioned himself, but still scanned the street, looking for anyone who was out of place. He approached Number Four, still unsure of what he expected to find or do. Fortunately, the Dursleys had left their windows and curtains open and it was quite easy for Severus to look into the front room and see Petunia, sitting next to a large man who must be Vernon, watching the telly. Snape took an unhealthy amount of comfort in seeing the woman was just as horse-faced as ever.

He moved until he was half-way up their front lawn to observe the pictures he could see on the walls. Most included a fat blonde toddler and either Petunia or Vernon. There was no indication that Lily's son lived here. He scanned Vernon's thoughts and found he was thinking about work. Petunia’s thoughts were busy with other people and occasionally her son. Snape was about to turn and leave, feeling increasingly frustrated that he'd spent days on this for nothing, when he heard Petunia speak. 

The woman had turned towards the side of the room that Severus could not see, and hissed, "What are you doing here? It's past your bedtime. Go back to your room."

Petunia looked quickly back to the window as if afraid someone was standing there listening. He scanned her thoughts and picked out the image of a small boy with unkempt black hair, startlingly familiar green eyes, oversized pyjamas, and a cupboard with a mattress. 

Snape tried to hold the image of the boy, but Petunia’s mind moved back to the television. Without close proximity or eye contact he could see nothing else. He was not sure of the exact protocol for putting a toddler to bed, but it seemed odd that she didn't get up to put the child back to sleep. More distressing was the fact that she didn't appear to pay him a second thought. Also, what exactly was the function of that cupboard?

He backed slowly out of the yard then stalked to the corner. He looked in all directions before casting a Patronus, demanding that Hermione meet him at The White Wyvern immediately. 

Several seconds later, he stood with his hood up at the entrance to the pub in Knockturn Alley, hoping to catch the witch as she arrived. He waited five minutes until he saw her curls flying out from underneath the hood of what looked like an Unspeakable cloak. 

The witch walked past him, touching his elbow in invitation to follow her inside. It was Friday and the pub was crowded, but she found a table in the back corner where she sat, facing the door. She did not lower her hood and when Severus sat opposite her with two Firewhiskeys, he could barely see her face due to the limited candlelight. 

Unlike their tea on Monday, she seemed content to wait for him to announce the purpose of their meeting. 

Snape cast the  _ muffliato _ and Notice-Me-Not before admitting, "I went to see the Dursleys."

Her eyebrows raised slightly and she leaned forward. "Did you actually talk to them?"

He sipped at the fiery alcohol. "No. There was no need."

She pushed her hood back slightly and he could see the dark circles under her eyes which had not been as prominent, though still present, at the beginning of the week. 

"Explain," she commanded. 

"I saw him through Petunia’s thoughts." Snape knew he did not have to explain further about who  _ he _ was. 

"How was he? Are they feeding him? Was she angry towards-?"

He cut her off with a raise of his eyebrow.

She looked slightly sheepish and tried to cover it by taking a large sip of Firewhiskey. Her face then screwed up in indication that she instantly regretted the decision. 

"He was… small… compared to the other boy. Petunia was angry that he'd got out of bed, but otherwise didn't seem to think of him at all," he answered slowly, his mind lost in what he had seen and heard. 

Hermione sighed, "Neglected, then. Just as I feared."

Her comment brought him back to the present. 

"You suspected he was being mistreated?"

She merely pursed her lips and nodded. 

"If the wizarding world found out he was being neglected at the hands of muggles, there would be an uproar," Severus declared. 

"Agreed. So my question is whether Dumbledore knows and doesn't care, or whether Dumbledore simply hasn't checked on him," the witch mused before taking a tiny sip of her drink. 

Snape had asked himself the same question while he waited outside the pub. Either way, knowing what he knew now about Lily's son, he had come to a swift conclusion. Dumbledore was not taking care of the child, at least not in the way he felt Lily would have wanted. 

He set his drink on the table and confided, "I will help you find and destroy the object." 

The witch started biting her lower lip. 

"And I will not tell the Headmaster," he added. 

She set her drink down as well, and leaned towards him. 

"And if I told you there was more than one of these… objects?" she offered in a whisper. 

Severus' heart stopped. Goosebumps broke out on his skin under his three layers of clothing. 

"How many more?" he rasped.

She held the fingers of her right hand up slowly, one at a time, until all five were extended.

He stared at Hermione’s hand, then her face. It was hard to tell in the light, but even she looked paler.

He picked up his glass and drank the rest of the amber liquid in one gulp. It somehow helped to reduce the amount of bile threatening to make its way up his throat. Now that Severus knew how to make a horcrux, the idea that any person would want to do it more than once was beyond horrific. 

When he had collected his wits again, he clarified, "And you know what all six of them are." It wasn’t exactly a question, primarily because he knew she wouldn’t answer the questions he really wanted to ask.

She nodded, but her eyes were dull. There was no life to her face. 

She took another sip of alcohol and his thoughts roamed to The Dark Lord, who Snape now understood to be without a doubt, certifiably insane. The man had been inhuman in some ways, only getting worse over time. If making a horcrux split his soul into equal halves every time, then the man had been wandering the earth with less than two percent of his own soul by the time his body met its demise. How was such a thing even possible? 

She interrupted his internal puzzlement with an equally puzzling question. 

"Can you get me into Hogwarts without Dumbledore knowing? Preferably before the students return." 

He looked at her and blinked.  "Yes. But only when he's left the grounds."  He narrowed his eyes at her, knowing she would understand his unspoken question. 

"There are some items in the castle that we'll need," she supplied.

Severus was about to push her for details when he saw her eyes flash and her body tense. She was looking over his shoulder at the door. 

Her eyes tracked something or someone from the entrance to the bar and he managed to turn slowly so he could see her view from the corner of his eye. 

Two men now stood at the bar and Snape recognized them immediately as Black and Lupin. He really did have horrendous luck. He turned back to watch his curly-haired companion. 

It was obvious she knew the men, but equally obvious that she had no desire to approach them. And there was a look in her eye that was all too familiar to Severus. He had the same look whenever he had seen Lily after Fifth Year. A look that suggested the bridge had been burnt, but you'd give everything to pretend it wasn't, just for one more day. 

Suddenly, a rosy blush flooded her cheeks and she looked back at him, then back to the bar, then at a speck on the table. Severus risked a glance to the bar and saw that Lupin had his hand in the back pocket of Black's ridiculously tight denims. 

"See something you like?" Snape drawled. 

Hermione's eyes flashed up to his, then down again. 

"No. Just remembered something," she said faintly to the tabletop.

She picked up her face after several seconds and the blush was gone. 

"I'm sorry, but I need to go," she blurted. "Owl me when you know a day we can get into Hogwarts."

He watched her stand and pull her hood forward. As she darted by the wizards at the bar, Lupin turned to her with a puzzled expression, but she kept her pace until he could no longer see her through the grimy pub windows.


	9. CHAPTER 8: SOMEONE NEW

CHAPTER 8: SOMEONE NEW

Remus Lupin had been through a terrible year. Yes, he was alive, but he had no friends and no security. He couldn't hold a job, couldn't even work up the courage to try and see Harry. His pack had been decimated by a traitor in their midst and it was only yesterday that he'd discovered the wonderful awful truth.  


_He had woken from another miserable full moon transition on Thursday morning to find Padfoot curled up into his side, snoring. Initially, Remus was certain he was dead and that this was some strange afterlife. He must have somehow killed himself in wolf form, possibly trying to break his way through the cellar door in his heavily warded cottage. But when Remus raised a hand to run his fingers through Padfoot's black fur, he realized his own body ached as it did every morning after a transition, and the dog's matted hair reaked._

_At his touch, Padfoot had awoken and transformed back to Sirius. He wore a simple robe that was too short and obviously not his own. His hair was matted and overlong and his beard grew down to his clavicle. The men stared at one another and Moony noted Padfoot's wide eyes held the same worry and fear as his own._

_"It was Peter," Sirius coughed, his voice rough from disuse, or screaming. Remus did not want to know which._

_"Peter was the Secret Keeper," Padfoot reiterated, the wizard's eyes hollowly searching his face._

_Remus tried desperately to hold that information, to understand Sirius' words. But most of his brain was caught up in the fact that he hadn't been this close to the wizard in fourteen months and now he was here, less than a meter away._

_"How did you… Did you escape?" Remus asked hoarsely._

_Sirius' eyes were flat. "Would that make a difference?"_

_In a split second, every argument he'd had with himself over Padfoot's supposed guilt came back to his mind. Most of the time, he logically understood that Sirius had admitted his guilt at the scene of the crime. But in quiet hours, usually at night, Remus only understood that none of it made sense. He knew his brother, his pack, his love. He'd been with Sirius the day Harry was born. Yes, the raven-haired wizard was reckless and he could be cruel to those he felt deserved it, but to hand his innocent godson to You-Know-Who never felt like something Sirius would do._

_Remus' brain finally comprehended what he'd heard earlier. Peter had been the traitor! The wolf that lay so close to his psyche growled in anger. That bloody rodent! Suddenly the entire picture of what had happened last Halloween gained a shred of clarity._

_"All they ever found was Wormtail’s-"_

_"Finger," Sirius concluded for him. "Miserable coward cut it off himself and then disappeared into the sewer with the rest of his kind," he hissed._

_Moony's mind was hurtling faster towards comprehension._

_"We have to find him!" he shouted, his hands shooting out to latch onto Sirius' too-slim shoulders. How could they catch the rat? He could be anywhere. Perhaps they could lay some form of trap…_

_He felt Sirius' fingers latch onto his wrists. They felt wrong, bonier and weaker than they should be._

_"Someone already has." Padfoot's grey eyes turned to hard steel._

_Remus shifted to holding the other wizard's hands in his own. "So… you're…"_

_"Cleared of all charges," Sirius whispered, the faintest grin hinting at his lips._  
  


The wonder and hope that Moony had felt upon hearing those words came back to him now, as he gazed at Sirius in this crowded pub.

This wizard, his wizard, looked remarkably better after a shower, shave, and haircut. He was still too thin though, no doubt a side effect of a prison diet. After sleeping almost a full 24 hours, Sirius had declared he wanted a celebratory pint at their usual pub. 

The White Wyvern had become their usual pub around the time of Harry's birth, mostly because Remus had on-and-off-again employment at the used bookstore across the alley. Remus has tried to argue they just go to the muggle pub in the nearby village, but Padfoot, in his customary bravado, had insisted he be able to show all those judgmental wizards what for. At least he didn’t want to go to The Leaky Cauldron where reporters were sure to lurk.

Sirius ordered drinks as Remus leaned against the bar. Looking around the dingy room, he saw the usual combination of people and creatures who didn’t want to be recognized. It felt too loud, but this close to the full moon his hearing was always a bit elevated. He noted a spot in the corner where someone was definitely using a Notice-Me-Not, and if the buzzing was any indication, a _muffliato_ as well. 

He turned back to the bar just as the bartender set down the pints of Dragon Scale. Lifting the glass to Sirius, he cheered, “A toast! To freedom.”

Padfoot mirrored his actions with a wide smile before drinking down half the ale. 

“So,” Padfoot exclaimed, turning to see Remus and the crowded pub, “how have you really been, Moony? Don’t sugarcoat it.” 

He took a long sip, thinking over the last year. “Lonely,” he finally answered, while looking into his beer.

“What? No bird or beau caught your eye?” Padfoot chuckled, turning back to the bar.

Moony, though, was not fooled. The tightness around the wizard’s silver eyes and the slight sheen of sweat on his brow indicated Sirius was not having as good a time as he’d like to appear.

“Come off it, Pads. We’ve both been lonely. We both lost a brother, technically two.”

Remus saw the wizard down the rest of his drink out of the corner of his eye. They stood silently for several seconds.

“We certainly know how to cock up a celebratory pint, don’t we mate?” Sirius sighed. 

“True. We aren’t the same lads we once were,” he agreed with a small smirk, following Padfoot by drinking the remainder of his ale and setting the glass heavily on the bar.

“Least we have each other though, right?”

Moony turned to see Sirius staring at him with heat, but the crease in his brow indicated honest concern. 

“Always,” Remus responded with a low rumble. He reached around to put his hand in his wizard’s back pocket. Moony’s wolf growled softly. Nothing and no one would ever come between him and Sirius again.

Padfoot motioned to the bartender for another round and they silently stood as battered ships that had weathered a horrific storm.

Remus turned to Sirius and was about to ask if he remembered their first time in this pub, when he caught the motion of someone approaching from the corner of his eye. Based on general figure and height, he guessed it was a woman and she wore an Unspeakable robe. Nothing about her covert appearance stood out in a pub like this and yet his wolf was suddenly restless. His human brain could not put a finger on what it was about her - her scent perhaps, or the feel of her magic, possibly even the racing of her heartbeat which he could hear as she drew even with him at the bar. But there was something that caught his, and the wolf’s notice. He did not sense danger or attraction, but something somehow deeper that he had felt before. The witch hurried past, not looking in Remus’ direction and just as she darted out the exit, he could see a tight brown curl fly out of her hood. 

Moony looked back to try and determine where she had come from and noted the table in the corner was visible and the _muffliato_ had been cancelled. There was another occupant who had just stood to apparently leave.

“Bloody hell,” Sirius gasped, “We must have abominable luck if Snivellus shows up at our celebration.” He hoisted his refilled drink and muttered, “Why the fuck isn't he in Azkaban, anyway?”

Remus turned fully so his back was to the bar and eyed Snape contemplatively. Two sightings of the dour wizard in a week was very odd. The fact that he had been sitting with the Unspeakable felt somehow significant. 

Sirius had fallen into old habits and already had his wand in hand. But based on his earlier experience with the man, Remus assumed Snape would pass them by in silence or with minimal insult at most.

He was therefore quite surprised when Snape stopped next to him and curtly asked if he knew the woman who had just passed. 

Remus shook his head, although he thought of his wolf and that familiar feeling. 

Snape's eyes narrowed and switched to Sirius whose glare was openly hostile. 

"Heard about your little friend," the hook-nosed wizard hissed. "Don't think for a moment that I assume he managed to become an animagus without help." He said the last word so sharply that if it were a blade it would have pierced skin. 

Severus did not wait for a reply, choosing instead to stalk to the exit in a whirl of black robes. 

Padfoot stashed his wand and both wizards turned to take a drink. 

"I'm proud of you, Pads," Moony blurted after swallowing. "You didn't even jinx him on the way out."

A mischievous smile lit Sirius' face and it was achingly familiar. For a moment, Remus was convinced they were in The Great Hall again at the Gryffindor table. 

"Got him with a toenail-growing hex just as he went through the door. He probably won't notice until he apparates away," he said casually and shrugged. "Just for old time’s sake."

oooOooo

Hermione woke in the predawn hours on Saturday to the sensation that someone was watching her. Her wards had not been tripped, but she groped for the wand she kept stashed under her pillow and twisted upright to glance around the room. She couldn’t see anything out of place and a quick _homenum revelio_ ensured she was alone. A glance at her watch told her it was just after five o’clock and she’d only been asleep for three hours. She sighed heavily, almost missing the gentle tapping coming from her bedroom window. 

A tawny owl stood on the ledge, eyeing her curiously and she hastily opened the window for its entrance. She took the letter and stroked gently at its feathers, but when she advised she had no treats, the bird hooted indignantly and rushed back out towards the impending sunrise. 

Hermione stared at the spiky scrawl of Severus Snape for a handful of seconds before opening the letter. She had met him less than twelve hours ago in Knockturn Alley. What was so important it could not wait?

_Hermione,  
_ _Besides the book I showed you, I have no information on the objects we discussed. Are there other texts or resources you would recommend? The Hogwarts Library has provided no leads. The only place I have not checked is The Weathered Tome in Knockturn.  
_ _I meet with my employer on Monday to discuss the upcoming year and must report to work the following week. I will inform you about his whereabouts as I learn them.  
_ _Lastly, if you ever knew Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, I hope you know they are as childish and immature today as they were at age twelve. You have been warned._  
_Sincerely,  
_ _S.S._

She stared at the script for a moment before a giggle erupted from her lungs. She wondered what the two Marauders had done to Snape at the pub after she’d left and her giggles soon turned to hearty chuckles as she reread the phrase “You have been warned.” The chuckles turned to full blown laughter without her permission and just as quickly, those turned to wracking sobs. Knowing she had not laughed so hard in months made her tears flow faster. The absurdity of this situation and the fact that she had no one to share it with resulted in an opening of her emotional floodgates. It was her burden to bear, to grieve the loss of people who were still alive, to grieve the friendships she would never have, and the magic her younger self would never know. Hermione could do nothing else but curl up on her side and weep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you kindly for the kudos, comments, and subscriptions.


	10. CHAPTER 9: SATURDAY SHOPPING

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of this is... a bit fluffy. But now there's a Sirius POV!  
> The gang's all here.

CHAPTER 9: SATURDAY SHOPPING

Four hours, three cups of tea, and one Pick-Me-Up Potion later, Hermione went down into the Alley where she had arranged to meet the Weasley family. Being early, she browsed in Eeylop’s for an owl of her own. While wandering the dark shelves and dodging droppings, she found herself thinking of Remus and Sirius and what she’d seen at the pub. They obviously were in a relationship but why had that never occurred in her past timeline? Had twelve years apart been too long to salvage whatever it was they had? Or had they secretly rekindled some form of relationship in private after Remus left Hogwarts? She supposed it could be that men in their mid-thirties may not want to disclose their relationship status to a group of teenagers, but wouldn’t they have told Harry?

And what about Tonks? The wizards’ sexuality was a nonissue to Hermione, but had Tonks known about Remus’ relationship with Sirius? He was her cousin, after all, and by all accounts the men were more like brothers. Being an only child with no close family relations, Hermione really had no frame of reference for what would be appropriate in that circumstance. Although she did have that one night with George after her relationship with Ron went nowhere but considering it was after a funeral and done more in comfort than appeal, she didn’t think that counted. 

The witch managed to divert her thoughts to a handsome long-eared owl whose feathers were a mix of tawny, black, and grey. Hermione was already thinking of names as she asked the shopkeep to hold the owl until she’d completed her outing.

A group of redheads appeared as soon as her eyes had adjusted to the bright light outside. Molly and Arthur each gave her a welcoming hug and she then greeted each of the kids. It had only been four days since her fateful family dinner at The Burrow, and yet they had easily accepted her as one of their own. Apparently apprehending a murderous back-stabbing intruder in their home had endeared Hermione to Molly much more than a single meal. 

By the end of the shopping trip, the curly-haired witch felt like a frazzled sheep dog. She had wanted to give Bill some time alone with his parents while they collected his Hogwarts supplies and this had resulted in her attempt to wrangle six small children. The quidditch supply shop had been a big hit and if Hermione had sugared up the kids with several shared ice creams from Fortescue's, well, she was simply following in the footsteps of every child minder before her. 

Just as Molly and Arthur came back to round up the group, she stepped away to speak quietly with Percy. 

"Did you like the ice cream?" she asked him gently.

"Oh yes, thank you!" he explained while waving his small hands back and forth. Hermione guessed it was a side effect of the sugar. "I wish we didn't have to share, though," he added. 

Hermione fixed him with an earnest stare. "I know it can be hard with so many of you, but truthfully, I'm jealous," she admitted. 

Percy was clearly confused. "You wish you could share your ice cream?" he tried to clarify. 

"I wish I had someone who wanted to share," she explained simply. "I am an only child and always wished I had a larger family. Having things isn't much good if you've no one to share them with."

The child stopped his frenetic motion and looked at her thoughtfully. Hermione knew it was fairly narcissistic of her to hope she'd be the reason Percy learned that lesson sooner rather than later, but she couldn't help impart some knowledge while he was still young and impressionable. 

"But speaking of, you had a pet and it's because of me he was taken away," she admitted, "Would you like another pet? Maybe for your upcoming birthday?"

Percy nodded his head shyly, but then blurted, "Just maybe not a rat, okay?"

Hermione nodded seriously and held out her hand in agreement, "It's a deal."

oooOooo

Sirius logically understood that he would need time to recover from Azkaban, but he quickly discovered his hopes did not measure up to reality. He tired very easily, got sick over the most basic of foods, and last night's alcohol had turned out to be a spectacularly bad idea. Luckily, as Padfoot, nobody blinked an eye if he slept eighteen hours a day. 

When Remus woke to go into work this morning, Sirius had nearly had a panic attack at the idea of spending the day alone. If he examined it closely--which he decidedly was not going to do--he would probably discover he suffered some form of separation anxiety. But Padfoot simply could not be without Moony. The very idea of being kept apart from the wizard made his chest tighten and his skin crawl. Thus, Saturday afternoon found him curled up behind the till as Moony completed his shift at the bookstore. 

Most of the patrons were uninteresting. A few had an appealing smell of raw meat, which he enjoyed as a dog but tried not to think about too much as a human. A hag had come in around noon and he'd decidedly kept his distance. Around four the shop had completely emptied out and Moony had managed to get himself lost in a book somewhere. He was just about to transition back to his human form when the soft chime indicated the door had been opened. 

Padfoot scrambled back behind the counter and laid down where he could either watch the new patron, or sleep depending on how boring things got. It was a girl, well, a woman he supposed with a mass of curls that were escaping their plait. She looked younger than him. This in itself was odd, as every other shopper that day had been twice his age or more. She spun slowly in the entrance, eyeing every book laid surface with a small smile. The action reminded him of when Moony had first gone into Honeyduke's. 

The witch walked to the first shelf and extended the fingers of her right hand, gently touching the spines of each book. There was something delicately sinful about the caress and Padfoot found he was not so tired after all. He watched as she pulled out a book at random, seemingly on feel alone, and looked at the cover. She repeated this process six or seven times, only opening one to skim the first few pages before placing it back on the shelf. 

As she was about to round the corner to the backside of the bookcase, she spotted him and froze. Padfoot cocked his ears and wagged his tail, trying to show her he was friendly. Some wizards really did think he was a Grim and were quite frightened. She gave him a strange sad smile before her eyes widened and she craned her neck back and forth, trying to look over and through the shelves. 

Moony chose this moment to rejoin him at the counter. He did not seem to realize there was someone shopping, which certainly supported Padfoot's theory that he had been lost in a book. 

"Pretty slow this afternoon, Pads," Remus commented. "What should we do tomorrow?"

He sat up and yipped, pointing his nose in the direction of the witch who was still frozen at the end of the nearest shelf. 

Moony glanced over and swiftly apologized, "Oh! So sorry. I didn't see you there."

The woman took a small step backwards as if she would bolt for the exit at any second. But then her resolve seemed to harden and she walked closer to the counter, chuckling softly. Padfoot decided then and there that this witch was highly unusual. 

"No wonder Snape said he hadn't been in here," she murmured to herself. Padfoot only heard because of his canine ears. 

"Sorry, did you say Snape? Severus Snape?" Remus inquired. Thank Merlin for his wolfish hearing. Padfoot had really wanted an answer to that as well. 

She stopped far enough away from the counter to keep both Padfoot and Moony in her sights. 

"Yes," she conceded. "We're working on a… bit of a project together. He told me he'd checked every other bookstore but this one."

The witch grinned mysteriously, looking back and forth between the man and the dog. Padfoot started to suspect she knew he wasn't your average canine. But that was impossible. Wasn't it?

"His loss is my gain," Remus quipped. 

Padfoot jerked his head back to see Moony smiling at the dumbfounded witch. 

"I'm Remus Lupin. Snape and I are old school chums. I think I may have actually seen you with him last night, Miss-?"

"Granger. Hermione Granger," the witch volunteered. "And if you and Severus are chums, then I'm a flobberworm," she accused with a surprisingly good natured smile. 

The dog noted she neither confirmed or denied if she'd been at The Wyvern last night. 

Moony stammered, "Well, we may not have always gotten along, but-"

"But what? He didn't like your dog?" She looked down at where Padfoot sat on the floor and winked. 

He was instantly intrigued. Great Godric, this bird was cheeky. He snuck a peek at Moony and saw the wizard floundering for words. 

"Don't worry, Mr. Lupin. I won't tell him if you don't," she teased as she backed up, turning towards the shelves. "Now, I really do need to browse if you don't mind."

Remus looked down at him, held his hands out to his sides and shrugged, evidently bewildered by what had just occurred. Padfoot didn't blame him. No one who was friends with Snivellus would have a sense of humor. 

The wizard walked into the back office but Padfoot continued to watch the woman go through shelf after shelf of books. There was something about her heart-shaped face that held his interest, something in the way she handled each book and the way each untameable lock curled around her head. Her eyes were very expressive, even though as a canine he couldn't be sure of the color. Dark circles bloomed below them and her cheek bones were dusted with a smattering of freckles. They stuck out somewhat unnaturally, as if she was underweight. 

After thirty minutes, she had a stack of three books. After an hour, it had grown to eight. Several other customers had come and gone but still she browsed. After ninety minutes she had covered most of the shop and had a stack of ten books hovering behind her. The witch finished back at the shelf closest to the counter and as she approached, she looked down at him with that same sad smile. 

"You're an awfully good watch dog, sir. I don't think I've been observed so closely in my entire life," she commended him quietly, directing her books to land with a thunk on the counter. 

Remus must have heard her speak, as he came out of the back and started adding her purchases.

"Quite a lot of books here, Miss Granger. Are they all for you?" 

"Yes. I enjoy keeping up my library," she admitted, still eyeing Padfoot across the counter. 

The books totalled almost 80 galleons and the witch didn't bat an eye. Instead, she pulled out a hideous beaded purse and carefully laid out cash for the entire purchase. She then shrunk the books and tucked them back into the bag. 

With the transaction completed, she moved to turn from the counter, but seemed to stall halfway around. 

"Your dog appears a bit malnourished, Mr. Lupin," she commented lightly, looking over her shoulder. "I'd try a nutrient potion every twelve hours," she added, staring directly at Padfoot. 

He raised his eyebrows and cocked his head at her. She nodded at him, then at Moony, and walked swiftly out the shop door. 

As soon as she left, Padfoot transformed and strode to the window to watch the petite witch head towards Diagon Alley.

"Is it just me, or was all of that incredibly odd?" Sirius asked.

"Not just you. I'm fairly certain she knew you were… well, you," came Moony's convoluted answer as he joined him at the glass. "And I definitely did see her at the pub last night. She's the one who Snape asked me about."

"How can you be sure? I thought you said she was in an Unspeakable cloak." he queried, turning to look at the sandy-haired wizard. 

"She was, but there's something about her that I... that the wolf can feel," Remus tried to explain as he ran his knuckles absentmindedly over his sternum. "Like she's somehow familiar, or part of the pack."

Padfoot felt as if his heart was in a vice. "Is this some sort of werewolf mate thing I should be aware of?"

Moony's gaze went from puzzlement to hyperfocus as he stared into Sirius' eyes. "No, Pads. I told you that's a myth. There's no research that supports that aspect of lupine behavior in werewolves. Some scholars don't even-"

Sirius shut him up with a blistering kiss. 

"Good," he growled, once they separated for air. "But just so we're clear, you were flirting with her."

Moony gave him a sheepish lopsided grin. "I have to keep up with you somehow."


	11. CHAPTER 10: PUZZLE PIECES

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. 
> 
> But let's pretend I do.

CHAPTER 10: PUZZLE PIECES 

Hermione yawned as she headed up the steps of Gringotts. Depending on how this meeting went, perhaps she'd allow herself a nap. Typically sleeping during the day only made her more tired, but her supply of Pick-Me-Up was dwindling and its effectiveness was starting to decrease. 

She'd spent Saturday night getting Auden, her new owl, situated and returning Severus' correspondence. Most of yesterday was filled by reading her new books from The Weathered Tome. None of them had any new information about horcruxes, but there was one about souls that had a section on Dementors. She hated to think of the foul creatures but the theory of soul removal and division was a necessary evil at this point. She still couldn't be sure if any of it would help Harry, but the more information she had, the better. 

She was shown into the same office as last week and left alone to wait for Hurock. He entered the room dressed in his same plum suit with two other goblins who were slightly shorter and wore navy. All three wore armor. Hermione started to worry that she should have brought backup, or at least told someone where she was going. Although, who could she have really told? She was startled to realize her only emergency contact was now Severus Snape. 

"Miss Granger-Potter," the Head Goblin said by way of greeting as he sat behind the desk. The two goblins stood behind him on either side, watching her closely. 

"Good Morning, Head Goblin Hurock," she stated with a slight bow of her head before sitting in the opposite chair. "Please call me Hermione. The Potter part is our little secret," she added, flicking her eyes between the three goblins. 

Hurock nodded. "Then to business," he began as he folded his long fingers over the edge of the desk. "As a banking entity, Gringotts is not responsible or accountable for any personal items stored within the vaults of its clientele."

Hermione clenched her jaw. Seeing her brow pulled low, the Head Goblin held up a finger.

"However," he continued, "The Goblin Nation, being a sovereign entity and enemy of the wizard known as Lord Voldemort, has no interest in keeping his property. He does not keep any accounts or vaults with this institution and by tribunal council decision, we are not willing to hold his dark artefacts."

She held her breath, hoping that this was working in her favor. 

“Therefore, we need proof that the object you mentioned does indeed belong to the dark wizard, and not the vault owner, before we allow you to destroy the item. If the proof is sufficient, then you must destroy the item on site. Under no circumstances will you be permitted to remove it from the bank," Hurock concluded. 

The witch cleared her throat. “Exactly what type of proof will you accept?” she asked slowly.

“Let’s start with what you have,” he growled, and smiled in the manner of all goblins, by showing all of his teeth.

Hermione’s brain ran through a myriad of possibilities and quickly realized she had no concrete proof that the cup held Voldemort’s soul or belonged to him, other than her own knowledge. Even Dumbledore never technically had proof. It’s not like she could waltz into Azkaban and command Bellatrix to tell her about how Lord Voldemort gave her a gift.

“Witches and wizards have ways of forcing the truth by using a potion called Veritaserum. Would you accept my word, if given while under the effects of this potion?” she offered.

The goblin on Hurock’s left turned and spoke Gobbledegook directly into the Head Goblin’s large ear. Not for the first time, Hermione wished Hogwarts had a magical language course. When he was done speaking, the goblin on Hurocks’ right copied his action, both seeming to provide insight and opinion.

“We do not trust potions made by wizards,” was the Head Goblin’s only response after several minutes of conversation.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at the trio across the desk. “Do you have something comparable that you do trust?”

Hurock looked between his councilors, then focused his slanted eyes on her. His gaze was piercing. “How much do you know of Goblin history?”

She ran through her last History of Magic essay in a heartbeat before deciding she would not risk the insult. 

Instead she sighed, “Unfortunately I only know what is taught by wizards at Hogwarts.”

The goblin scowled. “I am quite confident in asserting, then, that you have no knowledge of the Blade of Aletheia.”

Hermione shook her head. Thanks to her translation work last weekend, she knew that aletheia roughly meant truth in Ancient Greek, but that was as far as her knowledge went.

“The Blade was forged by the finest silversmiths and has many magical qualities. Any goblin pierced by the Blade is encouraged to speak the truth until the wound is healed," he explained. 

"Encouraged?" she attempted to clarify. 

"If a goblin chooses to lie or deceive, then the magic of the Blade will simply cause them to bleed to death," he stated happily. 

Hermione swallowed and she was proud that it wasn't audible. 

"What exactly do you mean by pierced?" she asked, trying to decide if her version of the term meant the same to a goblin. 

Distressingly, this prompted the two goblins in navy to hold more discussion with Hurock.

After several comments back and forth, Hurock spoke a sharp command and his cohorts were instantly silenced. Hermione wondered if they had been bickering. It was hard to tell with Gobbledegook. 

"It is nothing you cannot survive. And it will leave all of your limbs intact," he offered, and mimicked a knife being drawn across his forearm. 

Hermione had not expected that response, but knowing what she did about Goblins, it made perfect sense. 

“Has a human ever used the Blade of Aletheia? What should I expect?”

“No. Only goblins are permitted to hold the Blade. You will not touch it.”

“But what will-”

“You will not attempt to hold the Blade. Is that clear?” Hurock continued to speak over her, clearly agitated. She wondered if he thought she’d try to steal it, like Griphook with the Sword of Gryffindor. 

She looked him in the eye and acknowledged she understood. “What are its other magical qualities?” she inquired. Hermione was, after all, a planner. Attempting to use a magical artefact without knowing the full extent of its powers was unconscionable.

This prompted more discussion before she received the Head Goblin’s admitted, “That information will not be forthcoming at this time.”

This non-answer concerned her greatly, but if this was the chance she didn't have last time, the chance to do this peacefully, then she would take it. This was the mission and she would see it done. 

"I will accept your terms regarding the Blade of Aletheia," she breathed. "But I cannot do so until I have the necessary tools to destroy the artefact."

Hurock clicked his nails. "What tools do you require?"

"The only thing known to destroy these anchors safely is Basilisk venom. My other option is Fiendfyre," all of the goblins hissed at this word, "and I would not risk that."

"The one at Gringotts is not the only object?"

Hermione realized she had given away more than she intended and inhaled deeply to focus her thoughts. 

"There are four others," she admitted, looking at her hands in her lap. Without knowing how they would react, she refused to give any information that could link to Harry. After all, he technically wasn't a horcrux. 

The resounding silence that followed her statement carried on for half a minute

"You are a witch of many secrets," a tweedy voice rang out. It belonged to the goblin on Hurock's left side. 

"I am." Hermione saw no point in denying the truth. "But please understand I keep my secrets to protect the lives of many magical beings; lives that would end too quickly if Voldemort was back in power."

This comment was met by three calculating stares. Hermione had the feeling the goblins didn't know what to make of her. Getting the impression that their meeting was at an end, she stood and advised she would contact them when she had the necessary supplies.

The witch exited the office and turned straight into the chest of a wizard who had been following another goblin down the hall. Hermione backed up immediately, a mumbled apology on her lips until she realized the wizard was Sirius. 

He seemed to notice who she was at the same time, and his mouth hung open. The wizard could not acknowledge he knew her, as he had been in canine form during their last meeting, and she could not acknowledge she knew him, as she wasn't supposed to know he was an animagus. Now that she could see him up close, she was glad to note he wasn't as gaunt or as traumatized as he'd once been. Nine months in Azkaban was certainly not twelve years. They continued to stare at one another and she found herself drawn in by his mercurial eyes.

He had just started to stammer when Hurock and his councilors exited the same office Hermione had recently vacated. Sirius' eyes were instantly drawn to the armored goblins, then flicked back to the witch with curiosity. 

Hermione did the only thing she could think of in that moment, which was to simply smile and wink at him, before walking down the hall to the exit. 

oooOooo 

Severus apparated to the gates of Hogwarts for his meeting with Albus. Much to his preference, he had not spoken with the Headmaster since the end of the prior term. Truthfully, he did not dislike Dumbledore. The man was meddlesome to be sure, but that in itself was no great bother. Albus, however, was the only man who knew all of his secrets, and used them against him. He was also Snape’s employer at a job he was guilted into completing. Thus, he preferred the man at arm’s length. 

At nine, he entered Albus’ office and found the wizard pacing behind his desk.

“Severus. Good to see you, my boy,” he greeted mid-stride, his tone light but not quite jovial. 

Snape frowned, as he did every time that Albus referred to him as a boy.

“I need you to do me a favor,” the headmaster continued, without allowing him to return the greeting or giving him time to sit.

He crossed his arms over his chest and stood completely still in the doorway. He had not seen this type of energy in the old wizard since the days prior to the fall of The Dark Lord, and he was instantly concerned. “What favor is this?” he drawled.

“I need someone who is familiar with the muggle world to do a bit of research.”

Snape’s eyes were the only thing that moved in response as they continued to track Dumbledore’s movements across the floor. “Explain,” he finally said.

Albus stopped pacing and sat, gesturing for Severus to do the same. “Last night, I was observing the Book of Admittance to verify that all First Years would be attending and noticed an anomaly.”

The younger man crossed the room slowly and sat stiffly in an overly squashy chair, berating himself for ever thinking he could have a simple conversation with this wizard. 

“Jelly slug?” Dumbledore offered, gesturing to a bowl of colorful sweets on his desk.

Snape shook his head and waited for the man to continue his tale. Dumbledore plucked a gummy candy from the bowl and chewed it thoughtfully, eyes twinkling at Severus.

“I know you have not seen the Book of Admittance, but I trust you know how it works,” he began after swallowing and Snape nodded, “At the top of the current page, I noticed a name that has been crossed out,” confided Albus.

The arch of Snape’s left eyebrow rose several millimeters. “Crossed out by the Quill of Admittance, or by some other source?” he inquired.

The elderly wizard sighed, “It appears the Quill crossed off the name. I detected no other trace of tampering.”

Severus' eyes narrowed, confusion and curiosity warring in his mind. “Was the name familiar?”

Dumbledore wiped a hand down his beard. “The surname could relay a pureblood relation from several decades prior, but I think it likely the child is related to squibs or muggles.”

“Has this not occurred with other names?”

“None that I’ve seen in my time as Headmaster,” Albus said heavily.

Severus shifted his gaze to look at the many portraits on the walls. “And in the time of others?” he drawled.

“Only in the event of a death,” wheezed a portly man, painted with a dramatically long mustache. The name on the frame advised it was Brutus Scrimgeour.

Snape’s mind put the pieces together quickly. “You want me to research how a muggle child has died,” he concluded, black eyes piercing Albus’ deep blue. 

“Indeed, Severus. We need to rule out Death Eater or sympathizer involvement. Our world is too fragile and its population too small,” Dumbledore explained. “We cannot allow prejudice to circumvent our work.”

Severus internally snorted at the idea that he was part of the work to which the headmaster referred. Severus had done nothing besides provide small secrets to the Order of the Phoenix. He had not saved lives or turned against prejudicial injustice. He had not fought for the Light. He had not protected his best friend.

He inhaled deeply through his nose before he spoke, “Speaking of work, I thought we were here to discuss the new school year.”

Dumbledore steepled his fingers as he leaned back in his chair. "Do you need further assistance with your classroom or house, Severus?”

“Certainly not. But, if something should arise, will you be on the grounds throughout the month?” he inquired, nearing his own curiosity.

Albus gave him a maddening smile, the twinkle returning to his eye, “Only time will tell, my boy," he assured while plucking out another Jelly Slug. "I will be tracking down an Order member for the Defense position at the end of this week.”

Snape frowned, “I noticed one of your precious Order members in the paper last week. It appears Black has managed to get out of another crime.” 

Dumbledore merely nodded, his face curiously neutral. He did not provide any further information or allude to the fact that he knew. Instead, he conjured a small piece of parchment and began writing with a nearby quill.

Severus took this as a dismissal, although an uncommonly rude one from the Headmaster. He stood and turned towards the door when Dumbledore spoke again, “Here’s the name.”

Snape turned back and saw the wizard holding out the scrap of parchment. 

“Let me know what you find,” Albus concluded. “I fear the child may be more important than we realize.”

Severus knew using legilimency on Dumbledore was a foolish endeavor, but this was yet another scenario when he wished it would work. The elder wizard was clearly hiding something, but what? 

He nodded curtly, took the note, and exited the office. On the descending staircase, he flipped the parchment over and read the name, his breath suddenly stuck in his lungs. 

_ Hermione Jean Granger. _


	12. CHAPTER 11: MYSTERIES

CHAPTER 11: MYSTERIES

"Tell me again, exactly what they said," Remus sighed, rubbing his fingers over his mustache. 

"They said they could not file a request for a will reading as there was no will on file," Sirius grumbled, staring dejectedly at a cup of weak tea he'd sat on the desk in the back office of the shop.

"No. The part before that," Moony urged, feeling as if his mind was working through mud.

"They confirmed I still had access to my vault and that it was untouched since my last visit last year."

"But did they say your vault in particular, or the Black vault?"

Padfoot stopped moping, then continued slowly, "The Goblin said… he said I had access to the Black vaults… plural." 

He raised his face to meet the gaze of the sandy-haired wizard across the desk, confusion evident in the quirk of his brow. 

"It would appear your darling mum hasn't actually disowned you after all," Remus offered. He had no idea whether that was good news, but it was an alternative to focusing on the lack of James and Lily's will. 

He heard the chime indicating a customer had entered the shop and stood. Sirius was apparently lost in thought as he did not move or speak. 

After ten minutes and a request for information on grindylows, Remus came back to find the wizard opening a vial of green potion and pouring it into his tea. 

"So you did get over to St. Mungo's then?" Remus inquired.

Padfoot nodded, "They told me to take a nutrient potion every twelve hours and come back in a week. Which reminds me," he paused to chug the contents of his cup and grimaced, "I saw our unusual Miss Granger at Gringotts."

"The same Miss Granger who was able to diagnose you as a dog, hmm? She seems young to be an Unspeakable and a Healer," Remus mused as he sat in the desk chair again. 

"The one and only," Sirius confirmed but his eyes flitted around the room in distraction. "She didn't speak to me. But she definitely knew me, ya know? She… well, she winked at me," he admitted, clearly baffled. 

Remus chuckled, "If I remember correctly, Pads, most witches do pay you fairly close attention."

Padfoot rolled his eyes. "This was not that kind of attention. And she had been meeting with several high standing goblins, one of which was the Head of the bank!" 

Moony found this intriguing, but was not as disconcerted as Padfoot. 

"So she met with goblins? She was in an Unspeakable cloak, maybe it was Ministry business?"

"Well, she wasn't in Unspeakable garb today. And again, she doesn't seem old enough to be doing any of these things," Sirius commented while running his hands through his hair. He stopped suddenly and stared unseeing across the room. "Except for her eyes. Her eyes make her seem... haunted," he hesitated over the word, then added, "As if she's lived several lifetimes."

This comment was so unlike the wizard that Remus stared at him in shock. "I've never heard you talk like that, Pads," he disclosed softly. "Perhaps it's not just this witch whose past is haunting." He looked meaningfully at the raven-haired wizard, but Sirius did not notice. 

They sat silently for several long minutes and Moony grew increasingly concerned over his wizard's melancholy behavior. He was about to offer more tea, for lack of anything better to do when Padfoot sighed heavily. 

"You know," he began and his voice was rough, "I still see them, Moony. Prongs. Lily. For months in Azkaban… their bodies…" he trailed off.

Remus' heart ached. He knew Sirius must have gone through hell being in Azkaban for so long, but ever since being freed the man had been trying so hard to pretend that everything was normal. Perhaps it had been selfish, but Remus had been more than happy to follow Sirius’ lead. What he wouldn’t give for things to be normal again.

Moony stood and walked around the desk, kneeling next to the somber wizard. He took Padfoot’s hands in his own and murmured gently, “I’m so sorry, Sirius. I should have begged Dumbledore to speak with you himself. I should have demanded the DMLE give you a trial. I should have… I should have done something. I should have stood up for you."

He felt moisture in his eyes as Sirius continued to stare unseeing across the room. There had been many reasons why he had never pushed to get a trial for his wizard or pushed to see Harry. Only in hindsight could he realize that most of them came down to self-pity. He still had many doubts, but his only certainty was that he'd never leave Padfoot's side again. 

Remus cleared his throat and offered, "If there’s anything I can do, even if it’s just lending an ear to listen-”

He stopped when the other wizard finally turned to look at him. Sirius’ grey eyes shifted like storm clouds as they roamed over Remus’ face. 

“Sometimes I don’t know who I am anymore, Moony. Does that make sense? I don’t think I’m the same person I was before,” he spoke quietly.

Remus could only nod, “Then I’ll be here to help you find out.” 

oooOooo

“What about you, dear? Any young wizard caught your eye lately?” Molly asked while directing the plates into the kitchen sink. 

Arthur had just disappeared upstairs with Ron and Ginny after another Tuesday evening meal, when Hermione found herself in the midst of Molly’s relationship advice. 

“Umm.. no.,” she replied awkwardly. Knowing Molly - or future Molly - Hermione felt the need to make an excuse, even though she wished she didn’t have to. “I’m just so busy these days, trying to find where I fit into this world.”

“Well I’m sure there’s a wizard out there waiting for you. There's no harm in taking your time to decide what you want,” the older witch advised kindly.

"Did you take your time?" Hermione asked, trying to thwart the interrogation.

The witch sighed but smiled fondly, her eyes lost in memory, “Arthur has been everything I’ve ever wanted since I turned fifteen. We were both young when we married, but circumstances were different. There were signs of war. We saw no reason to waste time."

"Do you wish you had waited to get married or have children?" Hermione was curious, and would never have dreamed of asking Mrs. Weasley about her marriage in her prior timeline. But now, the witch was only ten years her senior and it seemed less impertinent.

Molly looked through the garden window and her smile only grew. “Not at all,” she paused, then confided, “I believe all things happen at precisely the time they’re meant. This family is the best thing I could have ever dared hope for.” Molly turned to face Hermione again and continued, “It hasn’t been easy - probably never will be. But I’ve never worried about what could have been. We’re here now and we can only move forward, taking it a day at a time.”

The conversation reminded Hermione of one she’d had with her parents during the winter holiday of her First Year at Hogwarts. She had realized quickly that most of the wizarding world did not accept her any more than the muggle, and she had asked them if they’d ever wished Hermione had not been a witch. She remembered the feel of her dad’s strong arms as he snatched her up into a warm hug. She remembered her mum’s voice as she explained that they’d never desired Hermione to be any different. The exact person she was at that moment, was the person she was always meant to be. She remembered their advice to spend her time focused on the present, as there was no point worrying about the unchangeable past. 

Thinking of that advice now caused Hermione to snort in irony. The snort proceeded a heavy stream of hot tears that she had no hope of controlling. She quickly turned from Molly’s concerned face to escape into the sitting room, hoping that the witch would sense her desire for solitude. Curling up on the sofa, she stared into the hearth.

The thought of her parents always sat very heavy on her heart. It had been two years since she'd effectively cut them out of her life, and there had never been any sense of closure. She had tried to find them in Australia last year and only found her father, drunk in a bar. It was so unlike him, that at first she simply watched him to make sure she'd found the right person. After an hour, she'd tried to reverse the obliviate and it hadn't worked. She tailed him for two days, trying everything she could think of without success. Most worrisome was that he never spoke of her mother and never went to a home that showed any sign of her. She learned later from the bartender at his favorite establishment that "Wendell" was an expat whose wife had died in a mental health facility six months ago. 

She had been completely gutted. She returned to England, moved in with Harry to Grimmauld Place, then didn't leave her room for a week. The worst part was having no clear understanding of what went wrong. She had known that memory charms were dangerous and not always reversible, but she had followed through on her plan in effort to keep them safe and happy. Clearly the plan had failed miserably. Hermione was not used to failing and it caused an entire collapse of her identity. Who was she to play with her parent's minds and lives so carelessly? What good was she as a witch if she couldn't help those whom she cared about most? No book could help her. There was no logic puzzle to solve, no list to make.

Forcing herself to admit there was nothing she could do to fix the problem had been the hardest thing she'd ever done, and it made her miserable. The only person she could stand during that time was Harry. He managed to show a surprising depth of emotional understanding, instinctively knowing when to leave her alone or push her out of her own head. Ron was too caught up in his own grief over Fred. He would often insinuate his and his family's suffering was more legitimate than her own, as her parents had technically been gone for a year. She did not argue with his insensitivity; she knew grief could be an ugly thing. But in her heart, she knew then that her teenage crush on Ron was all it would ever be. Of course, that had all been before The First Circle made itself known, before several other members of the Weasley family had been killed, before she sat on this couch after Harry’s funeral, wondering how any of this had ever made sense.

And here she was again on an overstuffed Weasley sofa, seventeen years in the past, still wondering if any of this would work out in the end. Hermione was so far astray in the maze of her own thoughts that she had not noticed when Arthur came to sit next to her. It was only when he conjured a handkerchief and waved it in front of her face that she surfaced to the present. 

“Molly is concerned she said something to upset you,” he advised, his voice soft.

She furiously scrubbed at her face with the handkerchief and inhaled deeply before shaking her head. “It wasn’t her. She just mentioned something and it made me think of my parents,” she muttered through her sniffles.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked quietly.

Tears still leaked from the corner of her eyes as she looked at the man, worry apparent on his face. She shook her head again. 

“Somedays,” she coughed to clear the thickness in her throat, “Somedays are just harder than others.”

oooOooo

Severus was starting to curse Hermione Granger. The fact that she came into his life around the same time a matching name was removed from the Book of Admittance was definitely not a coincidence. His life simply did not have those types of serendipitous moments. He could have asked her about it, he supposed, but something about the woman was a mystery begging to be solved. And Severus never left a puzzle unsolved.

The past three days, which he should have spent preparing his potion stock for the new term, were instead taken by the mystery of Hermione Granger. He'd spent too many hours with an elderly reference librarian, claiming to want to find the granddaughter of his neighbor who had recently passed away. If the librarian had referred to him as "such a dear," or pat his knee one more time, Snape would have certainly been headed straight to Azkaban on charges of muggle baiting or worse. 

He still had not found any public notice of her birth or death, and was instead trying to track anyone with a matching last name who was of childbearing age. Unfortunately, as the Book of Admittance recorded names at the first sign of magic and not necessarily birth, that meant there was approximately a ten year age range to look through. Severus had tried to cross-reference through the Dagworth-Granger family tree, but that trail had dried up around the turn of the century. If Hermione was related to Hector Dagworth-Granger, there was no proof.

He scanned his list of potential Grangers. There was no way he'd be able to check all these residences by himself, not if he wanted to get done before the end of the school year. One of the addresses caught his eye and he blinked. Surely the witch would not be so careless with her personal information. Would she? He finished his morning tea, then stalked from the dungeons to the apparition point, determined to find the answer. 


	13. CHAPTER 12: THE TRUTH

CHAPTER 12: THE TRUTH

Hermione took it back.  _ This _ had to be the most bizarre thing she had ever done. Walking in Diagon Alley with Severus was as normal as brushing her teeth. But this… this was foolish. It was also pure torture. On a deep level, she supposed she considered it some form of penance. But since her breakdown at the Weasley’s, they were all she thought about. Thus, she found herself staring across the street from under Harry's invisibility cloak, looking through the window of Richard and Jean Granger’s dental practice, her heart completing somersaults every time she spied one of her parents through the window. 

In the early 1980s, before she was school age, Hermione's parents had taken her with them to work, relying on their front office staff to watch her when they were both engaged. As she grew older, she could never fully remember that time, but seeing it unfold before her eyes now gave her a strange sense of déjà vu.

When she had turned eleven and Professor McGonagall had shown up with her Hogwarts letter and explanation, her parents had informed her she displayed accidental magic as early as two years old. As she watched her younger self now, sitting in the waiting room with a woman she vaguely remembered as Caroline, she wondered again why muggle borns were only informed about magic at age eleven. Wouldn't it benefit the families to know what was happening to their children? Not that her parents needed to worry about it. At least, not anymore. 

Her mum came into the waiting room, following a patient, and greeted her younger self with a wide smile. Outside, the elder Hermione watched with such painful yearning that she almost missed the dark haired young man entering the office as the prior patient left. As it was, she did not acknowledge him as Severus Snape until he turned towards the mother and daughter and engaged them in conversation. 

She quickly crossed the street but could not hear anything that was said. What was he doing here? He'd obviously found her out, but why approach her family and not her directly? Snape seemed intently focused on her younger self, and Hermione could tell it was making her mum uncomfortable. The older woman said something that caused the wizard to sneer at her. Hermione had not seen that look since being in his classroom with Harry and she felt sorry for her mother. Another minute of tense conversation followed before Severus headed back towards the exit. She stood to the side of the office door, out of sight of anyone inside, and hastily removed the invisibility cloak. 

Snape walked out the door and it shut behind him.

"What are you doing here?" she hissed. 

To his credit, he did not jump or flinch. He simply turned slowly towards her and motioned her to follow him down the pavement and around the side of the building. 

When he finally stopped walking and turned his obsidian eyes on her, his infuriating retort was, "Perhaps the better question is what are  _ you _ doing  _ here _ ?"

"What does that matter? I'm quite certain you were not in that office asking for a dental checkup," she quipped. 

"You misinterpret my question. What are you doing here in 1982?" he retorted.

Her only response was to glare at him, so he continued, "The child in that office is almost certainly a younger you, and the woman has a clear physical relation to you both. Admittedly, I have not studied time travel, but I'm certain that two Hermione Grangers in one time is decidedly ill-advised."

He stood perfectly still, his eyes boring into hers, searching for cracks or weaknesses or truth. She kept occluding, uncertain exactly how much to tell him. She knew he would find out eventually, but him finding her here in Hampstead was upsetting her balance. She didn’t know how he’d arrived here and she couldn’t risk other wizards doing the same if there was ever any suspicion about her true origins. She had agreed to this entire plan as it would keep her parents safe, and if that was not the case, she needed immediate answers. 

"Tell me how you found this office, and I will tell you everything you want to know," she advised.  


Severus sensed her sincerity, but had a hard time believing she would simply give away this information. Her eyes were anxious and the look made him pause. She had to know he would find out eventually. But something about him coming to this office had upset her.

He nodded curtly. “Follow me,” he commanded and walked further around the back of the small building. He cast a Notice-Me-Not and a  _ muffliato _ before turning back to her and explained what Dumbledore had seen and requested of him. He summarized his research and the home address in Hampstead. He had gone by the house, but upon finding no one home, a helpful neighbor had explained the Grangers could be found at the office. He watched her eyes narrow throughout his explanation.

“Clearly that child is not deceased. The only other way for her to be removed from the Book of Admittance is if-”

“She is no longer magical,” the witch cut him off with a sigh. Her head bowed to the dirty ground where they stood.

Snape stood silently, his face a neutral mask. He connected the dots and understood the witch's time travel had led to this result, but could not fathom why someone would go back in time, knowing they would essentially turn their former self into a squib. Magic had been the best part of his life; his own childhood spent dreaming of the day he could go away to Hogwarts and never look back.

Hermione lifted her head and inhaled deeply. Her eyes were red, but he saw no tears. “Severus, I know we don’t know each other well, but please,  _ please _ , if you do nothing else and leave here pretending to have never met me - please tell Dumbledore that you could find no information. Or if you must tell him you found the child, tell him it was somewhere very far from here. No one can know,” she begged. 

Snape grew increasingly uncomfortable. The witch clearly wanted no one near her family, not even Dumbledore. But why? He displayed his confusion by lowering his brow at the witch. 

They stood in a silent bubble for several seconds, both trying to understand the other. 

“1999,” Hermione blurted. 

He maintained his silence, knowing more information would be forthcoming.

“I came back in time from 1999,” she exhaled in one breath. She stared at the back wall of the office building and continued, “You know The Dark Lord is not dead and you know why. He regained his body in 1995 and the war started again but even then, he had been trying to kill Harry - Lily’s son - for years.” She flicked her eyes up to his then back at the wall, “Harry was my best friend. I helped him track down all of the horcruxes,” she added.

Snape felt his eyebrows raise by their own volition. 

She looked aged well beyond her years as she continued in a tremulous voice, “But after Harry defeated Voldemort-” 

Severus hissed at the name.

She did not stop, and instead spoke quicker, as if trying to draw venom from a wound, “A group of his followers continued his work. They were all Death Eaters, members of the Sacred 28. They called themselves the First Circle but we could never get proof of their identities. The war had technically ended but people were still dying. By January 1999, Harry was dead, you were dead, Dumbledore was dead - almost everyone with the strength, leadership, or power to fight had either fled or been murdered. The wizarding world was decimated. We managed to lead a false trail that I’d fled the country, but in truth I’d become an Unspeakable. I lived in the Department of Mysteries until-” she trailed off, no doubt lost in her own memories. 

“And so you thought you’d take it upon yourself to fix everything?” he murmured, as much to himself as to her; his tone a mix of wonder and disdain.

She looked towards him, but not into his face. “Yes and no,” she admitted. “The current Minister and I hatched this daft plan. Unfortunately, I was attacked while using the time turner and wound up two years late. The original intent was to keep The Dark Lord from ever getting close to Lily. But now…” she trailed off again.

“Show me,” he demanded.

He could see her eyebrows pull down in confusion, but then her eyes widened, and she stared into his own.

Severus was startled by how quickly and easily he fell into her mind. Without her occlumency shielding, he could see the organization of her thoughts and she robotically pulled them up for his viewing pleasure. There she was being sorted into Gryffindor, Harry Potter shortly following her. Snape sneered at the boy’s resemblance to his father, but had a hard time looking away from the child’s eyes. He saw himself seated at the staff table in the Great Hall. Her thoughts refocused on what was a moonlit night, several years later where his older self seemed to be protecting her, Harry, and a ginger child from a werewolf and he shuddered. Her next thought was of an older Harry in a hospital bed, talking to her about The Dark Lord’s return, how he had used Harry’s own blood to regain his body. Severus cringed.

The witch’s thoughts were swirling faster. There were several images of him at Hogwarts, including one where he was giving her a regiment of potions after a serious curse injury, and another where he seemed to be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. Then another dark night where a crowd of people were spread on a lawn in front of Dumbledore’s fallen form. The remaining memories were all tarnished by her fear and worry. A large locket hung around her neck, the darkness of its magic could be felt by Severus in her thoughts. He felt the pain of a  _ cruciatus _ as she gazed up into the haggard face of Bellatrix Lestrange. He saw bits and pieces of a large battle, including Hermione stabbing a large snake fang into a goblet and his older self dying from what appeared to be a massive puncture wound. 

Her memory of his own death gave him pause. He had thought often of how and when he would die in the last year. Particularly, after Lily’s death, he had wished it would come sooner rather than later. But to know that he had died in such a macabre way left him feeling curiously empty. Yet there was something, some strange feeling in his chest caused by the knowledge that Hermione had been one of the people with him when he died. It was a feeling he did not wish to explore, so he dove further into her memories.

Harry Potter appeared dead beside a conquering army of Death Eaters. But this was immediately followed by a Potter who vanquished The Dark Lord in front of a large audience, and subsequently outed Snape as a spy for the Order. A large ceremony was held where several people were awarded Order of Merlins, including a posthumous one for himself and one for Hermione. However her thoughts were dark and her memories only became darker. There were several flashes of her at funerals, at least three of which seemed to include the same red-headed family. These were followed by an attack in Hogsmeade that seemed to set the entire town ablaze with fiendfyre. In the memory, Hermione’s face was tarnished by soot, blood ran copiously down her left temple and the clothing on her right arm seemed to have been burned away. She raced towards Harry and a young woman with ginger hair who were both dueling wizards in white robes. The memory seemed to slow down as jets of green light struck the young couple simultaneously but Hermione’s mind was oddly silent. He wondered if this had actually happened, or if she was filtering the memory for her own sake. He watched as the witch in the memory scooped up the body of Lily’s son and then like a flash flood, grief poured into him so fiercely he thought he would drown. The scene was eerily familiar to him finding Lily’s body on the night of her death. 

Severus pulled from her mind and the witch slumped to the ground, her back against the brick building. He was sure she would have shown him more, but he didn't need to know. In fact, he somewhat desperately wished he didn't know half of what he'd just learned. It was clear to Snape that the future, at least Hermione’s future, was not one Lily's son would survive. And Lily's son was the only way he could atone. 

He stood for several minutes, lost in his own thoughts and realizations before he remembered Hermione was still seated on the ground. Looking down, he saw her head now rested on her knees that were pulled up to her chest and he could hear her soft sniffles. Snape grew increasingly uncomfortable. He had limited experience dealing with crying children, and even less with crying adults. He thought about simply apparating away, but realized with some astonishment that he would feel more uncomfortable if he left.

Without consciously choosing the action, he sat gingerly next to Hermione, grimacing at the dirt now affixing itself to his trousers. He said nothing, choosing to simply wait out the storm. 

After several more minutes, she seemed to calm and the witch raised her head, casting some sort of charm to clear her airways. Severus remembered Madam Pomfrey casting the same on him when he'd been hit by one of Potter's jinxes that clogged his nose with beetles. 

She turned slowly to face him, her eyebrows slightly raised, and he realized she was not occluding anymore. It was as if her thoughts were shouting at him, asking why he didn't see the memories related to her time travel. 

"I don't need to know," he explained tersely. 

She shrugged and they both turned to gaze across the empty alley. 

"Did you know what would happen if you came here?" he asked, unable to contain his curiosity. 

She sighed so heavily, Severus could feel the weight of it in his own chest. 

"Did I know the Hermione in this building would lose her magic?" she clarified. 

He nodded and even though she wasn't facing him, she seemed to catch his response. 

"Yes," she said quietly. "I don't want anyone using magic against my parents ever again. Including myself," she added thickly. 

He turned to look at Hermione, concerned by her statement. She was pulling her left sleeve up to her elbow and held it up over her knees so he could clearly read the word carved into her flesh. 

Her voice was ragged when she spoke again, "It was a hard war and I made a lot of hard choices, Severus. I tried to keep them safe once before and failed. I won't make that mistake again."

Snape grit his teeth but could not look away from her arm.  _ Mudblood _ . He hated that word; despised the fact that it had ever entered his vocabulary. He knew that his fallout with Lily had started before that day by the Black Lake, but that word still felt like the end of everything good in his life. 

He thought about the witch next to him, about what she was attempting. Truthfully, Snape thought her somewhat foolish to try. For one person to subvert an entire war was, in her own words, a "daft plan." He knew he would never be strong enough to make the choices she had, to go back and singularly try to right every wrong. 

But then again, he’d already agreed to help her. She wasn't working alone, was she? He cleared his throat and she righted her sleeve, turning her head towards him. 

"Who else knows?" he asked, his tone more affected than he’d like. 

She looked up into his eyes, "No one. You're the only one I trust right now."

"Not the Headmaster?" he inquired, his thirst for information overpowering his unease at her statement.

"Not Dumbledore. He's playing too many angles and believes too strongly in the prophecy," she reported.

Snape inhaled slowly, making up his mind, "I'll tell him that you were not killed by Death Eaters. Hopefully he'll leave it at that. But," he cautioned, “he will eventually learn your name and he’ll remember that it matched the Book.”

She reached across the space between them and lightly grasped his knee. "Thank you," she whispered. 

He looked at her small hand and tried to remember the last time anyone had thanked him. Nothing recent came to mind. 


	14. CHAPTER 13: THE LAVATORY

CHAPTER 13: THE LAVATORY

“You want me to wait here? Outside this girls' lavatory?” Snape asked incredulously. He looked at her like she was a Spattergroit pock.

Hermione nodded, “Count slowly to twenty, then follow me inside.”

She ducked inside Myrtle’s bathroom and found it curiously silent. Wherever the ghost was, she had left her home for the morning. All the better for them. She called for Kreacher and then did her best Parseltongue impression to open the tap. By the second try, Kreacher stood with her holding a large lumpy bag, but the tap remained firmly shut. 

She continued to stare at the snake on the tap but spoke to the elf, “Kreacher, there is a wizard coming to join us shortly. His name is Severus Snape. He is aware of our mission and whenever he is present, I give you permission to behave as you normally would with me. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Miss Hermione.” His bullfrog tone echoed around the room. He then held out the bag, “Kreacher has the birds you requested.”

Hermione looked away from the tap and smiled at the elf just as Severus came into the bathroom. He looked between the two present parties and his eyes narrowed. 

“How does a muggle born have a house elf?” he inquired, looking at Hermione.

“Complicated story, really,” she huffed and turned back to the sinks. “Severus Snape, meet Kreacher,” she added distractedly before making another attempt at Parseltongue. Third time was in her favor and the tap glowed. With a shifting of stone the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets was open.

oooOooo

Sirius was going to get answers. Dumbledore had not responded to a single letter all week, and now that it was Friday, it was time to take things into his own hands. When he'd found out that Remus had no idea where Harry was, he'd been shocked. When he found out it was because Dumbledore told no one, he had been angry. 

He still was angry, come to think of it. Although wasn't that his operating pattern? Get angry first and ask questions later. At least that's how Sirius of a year ago would have handled this. Today's Sirius, with much encouragement from Remus, was now walking up to the gates of Hogwarts, hoping to catch the Headmaster in his office. 

No one met him at the entrance to the grounds but he was allowed through the gates, which he took as a good sign. Sirius looked up at the castle now with dread, an emotion he'd never before had at the school. What had once been his escape was now his tormentor. Every stone and stairway mocked the friendships he'd built with James and Peter. Every corridor was filled with memories that he either wanted to hold forever or curse into oblivion.

Sirius wound his way across the grounds and noted his motorcycle next to Hagrid's hut. He paused, thinking he may ask for it back from the large wizard, but decided information about Harry was more important. 

As he continued up the hill to the courtyard and the doors beyond, he found himself again wondering about Hagrid's involvement last Halloween. So overpowering was his rage at Pettigrew that it had taken several days into his stay at Azkaban for him to remember Hagrid had been in Prongs' home when Sirius had arrived. How had Dumbledore known to send Hagrid? It suggested the Headmaster knew Harry had survived when his parents had not. Dumbledore must have been monitoring their residence. But how?

Sirius trudged through the double doors without seeing a single soul. He averted his gaze from the Great Hall and instead started to jog up the staircase to the first floor. The next flight of stairs chose that moment to move, so he walked along the first floor corridor hoping to use the stairs at the end of the hall when he heard crying. 

He walked further, trying to determine the source and direction as the sobs turned to pitiful wails. The wizard found himself by the door to what he realized was a girl's lavatory. With no students and barely any teachers in the castle, Sirius wondered who could be so upset and why. He stood frozen for a moment, debating if he should check or continue to the Headmaster's office. Just as he cracked the door, there was a sudden commotion on the other side, out of his line of sight and the crying was silenced by a strange hissing sound.

"Are you sure you're alright?" came a comforting female voice. 

Instead of hearing a woman's response, Sirius heard the deep baritone of Snape. He was gasping as if out of breath. “No. I’m not bloody alright. That was the most asinine thing I’ve ever done.”

“Really?” the woman sounded incensed now, “You signed up with Death Eaters, Severus. At least with this we knew exactly what we were getting into.”

"Correction: You knew exactly what you were getting us into. You couldn't spare a minute to warn me?" 

"If I'd warned you, you'd never have come down there with me," teased the woman. 

Sirius started to think he knew that voice, but he couldn't place the woman. And just where was down there? 

"You may be a Gryffindor, but that was decidedly Slytherin of you," Snape sounded… impressed?

"Oh hello, Myrtle," responded the woman, her tone now overly bright. 

"Hello. Who are you? I thought you'd be killed down there," came a third voice, slightly higher. 

Sirius guessed this was the person who had been crying. He tried to inch the door further open, but knowing Snivellus was around the corner made him hesitate. 

"I'm Hermione."

Sirius' breath stuck in his chest. Of course it was the mysterious Miss Granger. She had said she was working on a project with Snape, but what in Merlin's name were they doing in the loo?

The witch continued, "This is Severus. He works here at Hogwarts. And this is Kreacher."

Kreacher? Creature? Sirius only knew one Kreacher, and there was no possible way his mother's elf would be here. Perhaps he'd misheard. Sirius pushed the door wider, but stopped when he heard her continue. 

"We'd like to ask you how you died."

He listened to the young woman's--well, ghost's--explanation of seeing giant yellow eyes right there by the sink and was completely baffled. Sirius' confusion quickly turned to shock and dismay as the door opened and Snape pulled him by his collar into the bathroom and threw him up against a wall. 

"Well, well. Look what I've caught," Snape hissed, his wand shoved into Sirius' ribcage.

He looked around the angry wizard, trying to get a visual of what he'd overheard. Miss Granger's eyes had gone wide and she seemed paler than he'd remembered. Her hair was once again escaping its plait but it appeared oddly dusty. No. Not dust - cobwebs. There was a ghost, Myrtle apparently, who wore a Hogwarts uniform. She was waving at him coyly and batting large eyes behind horn-rimmed glasses. There was no sign of a fourth person or elf. 

"How long have you been listening?" The witch demanded and he was surprised by the sharpness in her tone. 

Sirius debated how much truth to share, if any. He obviously didn't know this witch, and he certainly didn't trust Snivellus, but something about her seemed to demand honesty. 

Snape took his momentary silence as invitation. 

"He heard Myrtle crying but we arrived before he could check on her," the gangly wizard said flatly, wand still lodged painfully in his ribs. 

This made Myrtle titter and the Granger woman bit her lower lip with furrowed brow. The witch then turned to the mirror and reached out to steady herself on the sink basin, apparently deep in thought. 

"Your arrogance continues to astound me, Black," Snape scoffed under his breath. 

"You're the one in a girls' loo, Snivelly," he goaded. 

"Gentlemen, I would remind you that you are in fact men and no longer school boys," the witch sighed. 

Snape stood sharply at attention and Sirius was instantly curious about the relationship between the two parties. 

The tall wizard grimaced at him, as if he heard Padfoot's thoughts, and huffed, "Shall I _obliviate_ him?"

"No! Absolutely not!" Miss Granger practically screeched and jumped between the two wizards, facing Snape with hands on her hips. 

Several tense seconds passed in near silence, the only sound being the witch's labored breathing as she continued to stare at Snape. Being this close to her, Sirius noted that she smelled like parchment and cinnamon. It was strangely pleasant. Finally, Sirius saw Snape nod once then stalk to the door. 

"If you need me, you know where I'll be," he advised before he exited in a flutter of black robe.

Sirius was just about to make a comment about her wearing the pants in that relationship when Miss Granger sighed and turned not towards him, but towards the ghost girl who looked like the cat who caught the canary.

Myrtle spoke first with a simpering smile, "You can come check on me anytime you'd like, Sirius Black." She followed up the statement with an awkward purr.

He raised his eyebrow at the school girl, but the witch beat him to a response. 

"Lovely, Myrtle. Could you give us some privacy? Or should we hold this conversation elsewhere?" she asked pointedly.

Myrtle gave the witch a furious glare before diving into one of the toilets with a pitiful moan. Toilet water splashed everywhere, including the side of Miss Granger's face. 

"Always so sensitive," she sighed to herself. 

Several _tergeos_ and drying charms were followed by a _muffliato_ and then she turned to face him. 

"Now then, Mr. Black, I don't believe we've been formally introduced."

He could do formal. Sirius bowed regally, holding out his hand for her own. "Sirius Black. At your service, Miss-"

"Granger. Hermione Granger," she offered while extending her hand to his. 

He turned it and kissed her thin knuckles and she flinched. When her hand was released, he noticed her flex it several times. 

"I saw you at Gringotts," she stated, warm brown eyes searching his face. 

This line of conversation seemed strange, given the circumstances and location of their current meeting. He nodded hesitantly. 

"I imagine you were there requesting a reading of the Potters’ will," she continued. Her tone was conversational but she stood very still. Sirius realized she was holding her breath. 

"You seem quite interested in my business, Miss Granger," he suggested, growing warier by the second. 

"You could say that, I suppose," she offered mysteriously. "But seeing as how we continue to run into one another, I'm starting to wonder if your business is also mine."

He studied her, wanting again to tell the truth but unsure why or if he even should. Instead he asked, "What's your interest in James and Lily's will?"

"I'm afraid I cannot tell you," she admitted with an apologetic wince. "But if you tell me truthfully that you have it, then I will bother you no longer."

Sirius couldn't help the slump of his shoulders. Not having proof of his guardianship over Harry was bothering him as much as not knowing where the pup actually was.

Miss Granger seemed to understand his defeat as an admission and she started to pace the floor. 

"Where would it be? If you don't have it, and it's not in their vault, then they must have left it in their home or with someone. But why not tell you? They were smart. They would have wanted Harry protected. Maybe they hadn't seen you-"

She suddenly cut off her rhetorical diatribe and froze, her eyes snapping on his.

"When was the last time you saw James and Lily before Halloween?" she blurted.

“I visited with Peter to set up the Fidelius Charm in early October,” he said before he could even think to respond.

“And before that?” she asked, now digging in that ugly purse again. The woman stuck her hand in down to the elbow and pulled out an orange potion.

Sirius thought back, trying to remember last year. The irony was not lost on him that he spent most of the last year trying to forget. “Why do you need to know this?” he queried.

The petite witch chugged her potion, then snapped her fingers at him, “When?”

“I think it was early July, before Harry’s birthday,” he suggested; again caught off guard by the forcefulness of this bizarre woman.

She went back to pacing, “Before Harry’s birthday,” she mused to herself, “Before Harry’s Birthday.” She gasped suddenly, “You bought him a broom. They had a small tea. Bathilda dotes on him. Greater Good. That’s it!” she exclaimed to the mirrors.

“Whaa? Maybe you should just obliviate me, because none of this makes any sense,” he complained. 

Miss Granger continued to pace and Sirius pulled away from the wall thinking he’d have to stop her to get some answers. He stepped into her path and she stopped mere centimeters away, looking straight up into his eyes. The fire that burned in her gaze rendered him speechless.

“Listen very closely, Sirius.” 

He blinked at the familiarity but she continued in a hushed whisper, “I think it very likely that Bathilda Bagshot has the Potter’s will. Currently he’s with Petunia, but Dumbledore wants to keep him there. If the Headmaster contacts you and tries to tell you he can’t be moved, contact me. I can’t say more and have to hurry before he returns to the castle. Tell no one you saw me. Well - besides Remus, if you can trust him.”

Sirius’ jaw hung open. What in Merlin’s saggy ballsack was going on here? The witch made it sound like Dumbledore was part of a conspiracy plot. He nodded, unable to vocalize his shock, confusion, and creeping feeling that this was some sort of prank.

She stepped back slightly and looked him over with an appraising eye. “You’re taking the nutrient potions,” she commented. It was not a question.

He nodded jerkily, still trying to access his vocal chords. So she did know he was Padfoot. 

“Good. And I’m sorry,” she added, her eyes softening.

He coughed, “Sorry?”

That was when the red light from her wand hit him square in the chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized today that this story has over 50 subscribers. I couldn't be more excited and nervous.  
> I sincerely hope I can keep you interested and entertained.  
> Many thank yous! Please comment, if you feel so inclined.


	15. CHAPTER 14: WHAT I DIDN'T KNOW

CHAPTER 14: WHAT I DIDN'T KNOW

“You’re certain she said Petunia? The Petunia? Horrible horse-faced Petunia?” 

Unfortunately, Remus remembered Petunia from James and Lily's wedding. That woman had been decidedly unpleasant. 

Sirius sat across the kitchen table from him and huffed, “Yes, Moony. For the last time, she said he’s with Petunia and suggested Dumbledore wants him to stay there.”

“But she never specifically mentioned Harry?” Remus asked again, feeling like this was a logic puzzle he could work out with enough clues. 

“Nope. Then she stunned me and I woke up five hours later to the feeling of a ghost trying to use me as the little spoon. I’ve never felt so violated in my life,” Padfoot concluded, dropping his head into his hands.

Remus chuckled and Sirius peeked between his fingers to glare at him. 

“Come on, Pads. You have to admit it’s a bit funny. I don’t think there’s ever been a witch to get the drop on you besides well-”

“Lily,” Sirius concluded in nostalgic agreement. Suddenly the raven-haired wizard sat upright, his eyes wide. “Do you think… Could it be possible that she’s…” he trailed off, a spark of hope lingering in his grey eyes as he stared unseeing across Moony’s kitchen.

“Do I think this Hermione Granger could be what? Lily reincarnated? Being possessed by Lily’s soul or spirit?”

Sirius nodded slowly, eyes still wide. 

Moony had seen a lot of strange things and read about a whole lot more, so he couldn’t definitively reject the idea, but it seemed highly unlikely.

“But why would she only show up now?” he tried to reason.

“Maybe she didn’t. I’ve been in Azkaban. You’ve been hiding with your books. Maybe after she died, she came back as Miss Granger and found Snape. They were friends once, remember?”

Remus remembered back to their early years in Hogwarts, when it was not uncommon to see Lily studying with Severus in the library. A thought struck him.

“Dumbledore told the Wizengamot that Snape was a spy for the Order. Do you think he did that because of Lily?”

Padfoot’s eyebrows lowered, “I don’t care about Snape’s motives. I care about Lily’s call for help from beyond the grave.” He set his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers. “Now, have you seen any information that would indicate that’s even possible? Dark magic? Old Grimoires? Historical references? Anything?” he begged.

Remus reached across the small kitchen table to clasp Sirius’ hands in his own. “I’m sorry, Pads, but no. I’ve never read anything in any branch of magic that suggests a soul can-” He cut himself off, as his thoughts snagged on history. “Did you say Bathilda Bagshot?”

“Yes, for whatever reason, Granger Evans thinks Bagshot has the will. But why is that-”

Moony released the wizard’s hands and held up a finger before dashing out of the kitchen, running for the bedroom of the small cottage he’d inherited from his parents. He ran to an armoire and pulled up the bottom board where he’d stowed a small box. Prior to this week, he’d often try to forget he’d kept the box and it’s contents, but now he was grateful he had.

He ran the box back into the kitchen where Sirius still sat, one eyebrow raised in confusion. He quickly pulled out a stack of letters and a few keepsakes that related to his relationship with Sirius prior to 1981. 

Padfoot looked at the items. His expression softened as he fingered a ticket stub to a quidditch match and a few candy bar wrappers from a high end chocolatier in London. 

“You kept these, even though I was in Azkaban,” Sirius commented roughly, eyes roving between the mementos and Moony’s face. 

“Yes,” Remus admitted softly as he sat back in his chair. “I guess I always knew the truth. I just never had proof.”

Sirius continued to review the box’s contents for another minute before he added, “We really should find out who caught Wormtail. We owe them a significant debt.”

Moony nodded and began to go through the stack of letters. Most of them had been Sirius’ correspondence to him, but some of them were letters to Sirius that Remus had managed to salvage. Luckily the Ministry had not known about the residence in muggle London, otherwise Moony was sure it would have been picked clean by aurors by the time he’d heard of the wizard’s imprisonment.

He pulled out three letters that appeared to have Lily’s handwriting and handed one to Padfoot. 

The raven-hair wizard stared at the envelope before looking back to Remus. “You got these out of my flat?"

"Yes. I, uh, well I may have," he stopped to clear the sudden thickness in his throat, "read them." His grip tightened on the parchment in his own hand, not entirely sure of the wizard's reaction. 

"Merlin, I love you, Moony," Sirius exhaled. He was tracing Lily's handwriting with his finger, but he looked up at Moony through his lashes. "Thank you. You don't know… I thought I'd lost everything," he murmured. 

"I love you too, Pads," Remus responded honestly, a wide lopsided smile growing on his face like the warmth in his chest. 

Both men were silent as they read the letters from Lily until Sirius shouted, "Here!"

He threw down a letter with a picture of Harry on a small broom. "Lily said they had tea with Bathilda Bagshot on Harry's birthday and Bathilda dotes on Harry," he summarized. "It fits exactly what Miss Granger said and it's proof that my theory is correct."

"How is that proof?" Remus asked skeptically. 

"Think about it, Moony. The only people who could possibly know about this letter are you, Lily, and myself," Padfoot explained, holding up his first three fingers. 

"I don't know, Pads. How would such a thing even be possible? How would it work? Is there a part of Miss Granger still in there or is she all Lily?"

"That's your expertise. You're the one with the research fetish. Get to it, man," Sirius concluded, his lips pulling up at the corners. 

Moony sighed, "And what will you be doing while I research?"

"Going to see a woman about a will, of course." 

oooOooo 

"You mean to tell me this Tom Riddle is the Dark Lord?" Severus asked as he followed Hermione through a thick copse of trees. 

The witch nodded, then held up her wand, seeming to feel for wards. After several seconds, she proceeded slowly. 

"And you're sure there's no Basilisk here?" he asked, trying to ignore the slight tremor in his voice. 

"Almost entirely positive. Although I honestly have no idea what we'll find inside," she advised as they entered a small clearing heavily shared by trees. 

Snape assumed she meant inside of the small broken cottage nestled at the other end of the clearing. Although cottage was a generous term for the broken hovel. Tree branches had fallen through the sagging roof in several locations and the southern wall was crumbling. The entire structure looked like it would topple over with the next strong wind. 

Hermione stopped two meters from the door and looked back to him. "Remember, I have no immediate knowledge of how this ring is guarded. I only know that it will curse the wearer to deadly effect," she lectured. 

Snape simply pursed his lips. She did not need to tell him this information. Whoever went around wearing something that had once belonged to the Dark Lord was obviously an idiot. 

She held up her hands in placation,"I know it seems obvious, but there may be a compulsion charm or any other number of hexes or jinxes that will hinder our mental faculties and-"

"Yes, woman. I understand. Now please stop your insufferable lecture and get on with it," he grumbled. 

She smiled at him and he merely blinked in confusion. He had known the truth of her for three days now, and was only just starting to accept that the witch would always do mysterious things. Like smiling. At him. 

She turned back to the cottage door, moving her wand in a sweeping motion, but commented, "You know you called me an insufferable know-it-all when I was your student."

Snape snorted. He could easily believe that. 

She stepped back and motioned him forward. "Your turn."

He examined the structure for wards and found none remaining. The door itself was cracked open which seemed ominous at first glance before he realized the casing above was damaged. Severus peeked inside using a dim  _ lumos  _ and saw nothing but mold, decrepit floors, broken furniture, and dust.

He stepped away from the door.

"Nothing visible," he relayed to the witch at his side. 

She straightened her shoulders and announced, "Okay. I'll go in first. You follow behind. If I do anything suspicious, stun me."

Hermione threw out her arm to push the door and he stopped her with a hand to her forearm. She looked at his hand, then back to his face. 

"I have no wish to offend your Gryffindor sensibilities, but as I am intimately familiar with The Dark Lord and his spell work, perhaps I should proceed you," Snape hinted. 

He watched as the witch contemplated his words. Even without legilimency, he could see her mind sifting through plans, weighing each for logical rationality. Again, Severus found himself appreciating her mind. She was certainly brave. Even without the time travel mission to save the wizarding world, her destruction of the Basilisk had proven as much. But he couldn't help but think she was much more Ravenclaw with a bit of Slytherin thrown in. 

She nodded and stepped away as he ducked through the doorway. He could feel the dark magic, but it was not clear whether it was only the horcrux, or something more sinister. Inching forward, he held his wand aloft, trying to feel the source of the magic while the witch behind him cast a _ lumos maxima _ . 

Severus had moved less than two meters into the room when he felt the pull. There was something about dark magic and its power that sang to him. It was a sizzle in his bloodstream and as a child, desperate to feel anything that wasn’t his mother’s antipathy or his father’s belt, it had been a balm for his soul. Until he met Lily. She had been the only other spark in his darkness. 

He moved several more meters, Hermione still shadowing him, until he could kick the toe of his boot at a loose floorboard by a moldy armchair. The board came loose in shards. Underneath the wood was a small box that hummed with the magic of The Dark Lord. 

“I’m going to get a closer look. The box itself holds at least one curse,” he indicated to the witch as he slowly lowered himself to one knee. He knew she would keep him from touching the item by force if necessary and he was momentarily disturbed by the trust he was showing her.

Snape focused back on the box and started performing every counter-curse and charm he knew including the ones he’d created himself. After ten minutes, he felt light-headed and still sensed the box wasn’t safe to handle. A gentle hand on his shoulder steadied him as he started to sway. 

“What if we just destroyed the entire thing with the venom?” Hermione asked hesitantly. 

He looked up into her face and then at the crumbling ceiling. “Not here. We’ll have to move it outside,” he advised. 

Severus moved to stand just as he started to levitate the box out of the hole. The moment it left the earth, a whirlwind of air stirred up all the detritus in the cottage with such force that he was knocked back to the ground. Eighty kilometer winds scattered leaves and dirt in all directions and sent the remaining furniture careening around the space. Glancing upwards from the floor, he saw the ceiling beam sway. He lost track of Hermione and wondered if she’d been blown away before he felt a sharp pain in his side and fell into unconsciousness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for my delay in posting. Between family visiting and trying to help my oldest with virtual kindergarten, the time ran away from me.  
> I'll post again tomorrow to make up for my tardiness (and the cliffy).


	16. CHAPTER 15: LIFE RAFT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friendship Feels, y'all.

CHAPTER 15: LIFE RAFT

“Kreacher!”

Back in the clearing, Hermione carefully set Snape’s levitating form on the dirt then ran some rudimentary diagnostic healing charms. She could at least ascertain that the man was breathing, his brain had function, but his blood level was dropping. Kreacher arrived just as she was staring at the wooden shard sticking out of Snape’s right side. 

“Miss Hermio-”

“No time, Kreacher. Unless you know healing spells, I need you to get the Dittany from that bag,” she jerked her thumb at her small purse as she ran a check on Snape’s organs. Thank God she had looked over those healer study guides. 

She willed her hand to steady as she cut away the side of Severus’ robes, coat, and shirt with her wand. It was August, why on Earth did the man need so many layers? And wool? Really? Maybe she needed to introduce him to… No. Focus. She needed to focus.

Kreacher set the healing essence next to her and she instructed, “I need you to pull out the stake, Kreacher. It must be slow and straight as you can. As soon as you do that, I need you to search for some blood replenishing potion in my bag. Can you do that?”

Kreacher nodded and grasped the scrap of wood with both hands. The part that she could see was at least twenty centimeters in length and several centimeters wide. The second the elf pulled the remaining five centimeters from Snape’s body, she was ready with the stopper of Dittany. The wound started healing but blood still seeped from the hole just under his ribcage. 

Hermione half-tugged, half-pushed Snape onto his side to check for other wounds but thankfully found none. She noted a set of curious scars that criss crossed his back that she tried not to analyze too closely, knowing he was a very private person. 

Rolling him to his back, she ran some more diagnostic charms and confirmed none of his organs or bones were damaged. 

“You’ve done so well, Kreacher. Thank you for your help,” she remarked to the elf with shaking voice. 

“He needs the blood replenisher, Miss. He’s too pale,” was the elf’s response.

“He’s always too pale,” she retorted under her breath as she held out her hand for the potions.

“I heard that,” croaked the wizard as his eyelids fluttered.

“Oh, Severus! Thank Merlin! Can you sit up?” she inquired.

“What’s happening? Where are we?” he stammered and she could see he was trying to push up onto his elbows without success.

“Here. Kreacher, please help me sit him up,” she instructed and they each pulled him from the shoulders until he could balance upright. 

“Still here then?” Snape sighed, looking around the clearing warily.

“Yes. Here,” she held out the potions, “take two of these. You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

“Blood?” He looked down and seeing the lower right half of his shirt missing, glared back at her. “What in Salazar’s name have you done to me, witch?” 

Hermione stared at the pink skin of his prior wound. "I managed to get a shield charm around us right after you were… well, impaled. Unfortunately you were also knocked out," she finished lamely. 

Looking back into his face, she realized his blood pressure must not be too affected, as he was blushing. Whether he was embarrassed by having her protect him or from her staring at his bare torso, she wasn't sure and was certainly not going to ask. Snape looked away from her and quickly downed the two potion vials. 

"I'm sorry about your clothes. I'm not great with mending charms, but I'll buy you more if you'd like," she offered, purposely looking no lower than eye level.

"Kreacher is very good at mending, Miss Hermione," the elf announced from her left. 

"Oh that would be lovely, Kreacher. Thank you."

He got to work on Severus' clothes while the wizard looked decidedly uncomfortable at being fussed over.

"What happened to the box?" he asked, staring back towards the cottage. 

"Last I saw, it had been blown towards the door, but," she shrugged, "I was a tad preoccupied."

He motioned for her to go check the door and Hermione stood, approaching slowly. She saw the small box about a meter inside. After transfiguring a branch from outside into a large hook, she used it to pull the box across the floor towards the door. No hurricane gusts occurred and she exhaled loudly. 

She pushed the box over to within arms length of Severus where he continued to sit on the ground in his newly mended clothes. The witch then extricated a large jar and dragonhide gloves from her beaded bag.

“You should do the honors,” she insisted, passing him the gloves and the unbreakable jar. 

“What do you think will happen?” he asked quietly, his pupils tiny pinpricks even though they were in the shade of the tall trees.

“Don’t know, to be honest. Just start with the box and we’ll see how it goes.”

He meticulously put on the gloves and opened the jar, selecting one of the smaller Basilisk fangs whose tip was sized like the nib of a quill. He did not hesitate, but drove it fiercely down through the top of the box, which instantly blackened and cracked as if it had been burned by fire. After a few seconds, only a gold ring with a black stone sat in the dirt surrounded by a pile of ash. 

Hermione stared as Snape twitched his left hand and forearm before driving the fang again into the gold band. An unearthly scream rent the air and every tree surrounding the clearing shook in fury. The largest bough broke off one of the trees overhanging the roof and she watched, as if in slow motion, the small shack implode in a cloud of dust. 

She looked back at Severus and saw the sheen of sweat on his brow, but he stiffly placed the fang back in the jar and handed her the gloves. The band of the ring was completely mangled, but the stone remained intact. 

“Master Regulus would be proud.”

She turned to see Kreacher sniffling in the shade of a large tree, eyeing the destroyed horcrux.

“Will Miss do the locket the same way?” the elf asked with excitement.

“Yes. But not today, Kreacher. The locket will require more... preparation.” She supposed that was the easiest way to describe the emotional fortitude needed to destroy something so heinous. 

He twitched his large ears, then froze for half a second before indicating his other Mistress was calling and disappearing into thin air. 

“You not only have a house elf, you have a Black family house elf,” Snape stated, his baritone voice dripping with suspicion. 

“Indeed,” she quipped as she picked up the black stone from the ground and pocketed it, before extending a hand to help the wizard off the ground.

oooOooo

"May I ask you a question?" Severus inquired as he sat down another round of lagers. 

He and Hermione had decided to celebrate their achievement by going to a muggle pub. Football blared from the televisions and no one paid any attention to them at a small table in the back corner. 

"Of course. But only if I get to ask you one back," she dared, as she wiggled an eyebrow. 

He snorted as he realized the witch was clearly not used to drinking alcohol. 

"Fair," he decided, knowing she already knew his darkest secrets. "But nothing leaves this pub," he added. 

"Cheers," she responded brightly while clinking his glass. 

"Where did you learn occlumency?" 

She giggled after swallowing a sip. "What? You're curious where I learned my simple skills that--how did you put it--lack finesse?"

He pursed his lips at her in response and she sighed, "Well I had books, of course. But I was also an Unspeakable. It's in the standard training."

She seemed so young, he had a hard time believing she'd had time to work her way into the Ministry. 

"How old are you?" 

"Technically I'll be 20 next month," she answered, a small smile gracing her thin face. "How old are you?" she countered. 

"I'll be 23 in January. Did you always want to be an Unspeakable?"

She shook her head forcefully. "Not at all. I only became one for access to the Department of Mysteries library. I was already planning this trip with the Minister when I took the oath," she admitted before taking a long sip. When she set her pint back down, she looked at him curiously. "Do you ever get tired of the secrets, Severus?"

He took his own long sip as he thought honestly about his answer. Did he?

"No. I know no other way of living. It's as if you're asking me if I'm tired of the sky being blue. There is no alternative," he mused, somewhat shocked he had voiced that opinion aloud. Perhaps this muggle lager was stronger than he'd thought. 

Hermione's brow furrowed. "That seems very Slytherin of you," she said, eyes searching his face. 

"There's a bit of Slytherin to you too, Hermione," he responded. "I bet you've done some fairly Slytherin things in your lifetime. Care to share them?" he queried and took another sip. 

"When I was 13 I broke into your potions storage cupboard to brew Polyjuice Potion in Myrtle’s lavatory. We then used the Polyjuice to sneak into the Slytherin common room and try to figure out who was opening the Chamber of Secrets," she blurted, shrinking away from him and the table.

"You… Did… But…" he stammered. Severus was glad he had just swallowed, otherwise he was sure to have lager up his nose. Apparently though, the witch was just getting started. 

"One time I  _ confunded _ a boy at quidditch tryouts so my friend would get on the team instead. Later that year, I tried to make said friend jealous by inviting the  _ confunded _ prat to a party." She paused and picked at a spot on the table, "It didn't really work out."

Snape opened his mouth to interrupt, but she just kept going. 

"Oh and one time I kept a reporter, who was an illegal animagus, hostage in a jar until she could learn to actually write facts and not egregious fiction," she confessed. "I then blackmailed her into writing the truth for a different publication that wasn't trying to cover up Voldemort’s return."

He felt his eyebrows working their way up his forehead. 

"And in effort to keep my parents safe from Death Eaters I  _ obliviated  _ them, removed myself from their memories, created fake identities for them and compelled them to move to Australia," she finished, staring into her pint before picking up the glass and chugging half her drink. 

Snape did not know how to respond. He knew that she harbored much guilt over her parents but as he was never particularly close to his own, he felt he had no advice to give. 

Instead, he murmured the first thing that came to mind, "I think the sorting hat did a proper job with you."

She looked at him sharply as she set her glass on the table. "How so?"

He lowered his brow and tried to choose his words with care, "Everything you just described was done when you were a child, and it was always in someone else's best interest. Not to mention, you're obviously very brave to the point of foolish and far too honest."

He allowed the corner of his lip to twitch upwards as she studied his face, resulting in her own small grin. 

"Well what's the most Gryffindor thing you've ever done, then?" she asked, a teasing lilt in her tone. 

"I somehow befriended this daft witch and allowed her to take me on a wild adventure even though she only ever gave me half the necessary information," he responded. "Oh, and today I destroyed part of the Dark Lord with a Basilisk fang," he concluded.

Her grin grew so wide it looked almost painful on her freckled face. 

"Are we friends?" she asked hopefully.

His chest felt oddly tight as his Slytherin conscious lectured him in all the ways a friend was a weakness, but he managed to raise his glass to her in a toast.

"Obviously."


	17. CHAPTER 16: FAR AND BEYOND

CHAPTER 16: FAR & BEYOND

_ In the event of our death, I, James Fleamont Potter, and I, Lily Joyce Potter née Evans declare Sirius Orion Black to be guardian of our minor child, Harry James Potter, as well as guardian of his estate, until he reaches the legal age of majority. In the event we have been predeceased by the guardian, we declare Alice Longbottom to serve in said capacity. In the event we have been predeceased by both parties, we declare Frank Longbottom to serve in said capacity. In the event we have been predeceased by all parties, we declare Bathilda Bagshot to serve in said capacity.  _

Sirius stared at the document for the fifth time that day. He'd visited Bathilda Bagshot while studiously avoiding any glimpse of the Potter's cottage. Truthfully if he never went back to Godric's Hollow it would be too soon. But he sat through tea with the elderly witch who scolded him for never reading her textbook before stuffing him full of biscuits. Only then did she set a small chest on the table, indicating Lily had left it in her care with explicit instructions that it would only open for "a friend." 

He had opened the chest not with the Marauders mission statement, but with its conclusion: Mischief Managed. Lily must have been the one doing the charm work. She always was able to manage their mischief. Bathilda had only chuckled, before Sirius shrunk the chest, pocketed it and took his leave. 

Back at Remus' cottage, he'd sat the chest on the kitchen table and proceeded to stare at it for two hours until Moony returned home. It turned out The Last Will and Testament of James and Lily Potter has been the top document in a stack of parchment and books.

Sirius had been hung up on the fact that Prongs and Lily never considered Peter as a guardian for Harry. Had they known of his duplicity? Or had they simply realized Pete could barely take care of himself, let alone a child. Although internally, Padfoot grudgingly admitted that the same could be said of himself. 

Remus, however, had been hung up on the fact that the wording suggested James and Lily knew they would die, but that Harry would live. Sirius argued that was the entire purpose of a will, but Moony felt that never mentioning the possibility that one spouse would outlive the other, was telling in its own way. 

Sirius realized he'd been staring at the same lines of text for ten minutes when Remus’ shaky hand pushed a letter into his line of sight.

“There’s a letter for you,” Remus indicated, his voice rough. “There’s a letter for all of us.” 

The sandy-haired wizard had been sifting through the chest’s contents and now had two books, one of which appeared to be written in runes, five letters and a stack of parchments filled with Lily’s handwriting. 

Sirius’ own letter was addressed to him as Padfoot in James’ handwriting. He didn’t want to open it. The day had already brought extraordinary emotional upheaval. Reading a letter from his best mate, a man who was dead because of Sirius’ own suggestion to use Wormtail as the Secret Keeper, felt like a terrible idea. 

He looked to Moony and saw the wizard clutching his own envelope with shaking hands. Glancing at the table, he saw three other letters for Peter, Harry, and surprisingly Severus Snape. The parchments seemed to include various charms and arithmantic equations for some sort of ritual that Lily was working on prior to her death. The books were not familiar to him at all.

Padfoot sniffed and coughed a few times to get his voice working properly as he gestured towards the texts, “What do you make of these, Moony?”

Remus jerked his head suddenly, as if he’d forgotten Sirius was in the room. His eyes were red-rimmed and he sniffed a few times before pointing to the top book with the title  Bonds & Debts: Life, Soul, Blood , “This one was actually referenced in a book I saw today at work while I researched your reincarnation theory. No idea what Lils had it for though. This one,” he shifted the stack to look at the smaller book covered in runes, “I’ve no idea. Runes were never my thing. That was more you and Pete.” 

Sirius combed his fingers through his mustache and looked at the stack from Lily’s project. “And this? What do you think she was doing?”

Moony picked up the parchments and thumbed through the first few pages. “Merlin, this is complex,” he mumbled. “I think,” he said slowly, flipping through more and more pages, “Lily created her own protective warding system.” 

Padfoot was even more confused. “But why create something that already exists?”

Remus reached the last page in the stack and his eyes went wide. He pulled it away from the others and passed it to Sirius. There were two words written at the bottom of the page that had been circled.

_ For Harry. _

oooOooo

"I have the necessary tools and am ready to move forward," Hermione notified Hurock as soon as their greetings had been exchanged. 

The Head Goblin leaned forward over the desk, eyeing the occupied chair next to hers. 

"This is your tool?" he hissed. 

"Miss Hermione has allowed Kreacher to escort her today," came the elf's gruff response. 

Hermione was proud that he sat up as tall as he could when speaking as Goblins tended to look down on House Elves for helping Wizards without pay.

"Yes, this is Kreacher. He has intimate knowledge with the evil artefacts that we're dealing with," she asserted. 

Hurock looked at her, then down to Kreacher, then up to her again. "You understand he has knowledge that you do not."

It was not a question, but Hermione nodded anyway.

"I respect Kreacher as I respect all magical beings. He is worthy of nothing less," she stressed, raising her eyebrow at the Head Goblin. "If it is a problem that he accompanies me, then we will have to come to another arrangement."

Hurock calculated her words before he abruptly stood and commanded them to follow him out of the office.

They walked through the main chamber of the bank to a long hallway on the opposite side. At the end of the hall, they passed through a stone door and walked down another passage that was as pristine as the bank, but with grey stones instead of white. There were three large archways, and they entered the second. The space beyond looked like a smaller version of the Death Chamber in the Department of Mysteries and Hermione shivered as she was led to the stone dais in the center of the room and asked to wait. She stared at the fine sand that surrounded the dais like a moat.

After ten minutes, Hurock returned with no less than fifteen goblins. Most wore the navy suit of the advisors she'd seen last week, but two were dressed completely in armor and one wore a jet black tunic with chainmail so fine it glittered like diamonds in the flickering torchlight. Hermione wondered if that was the Goblin King. She could not be sure, but she felt like whatever honor was being bestowed upon her by the Goblin Nation, had not been seen by a wand wielder in many decades, possibly centuries. 

They stood in a semicircle around the dais, with the goblin in black at the center position flanked by the two in full armor. Hurock approached her with a blade the length of her forearm in a leather scabbard. Its hilt was silver and engraved with countless runes that reminded her of a pensieve. He was followed by the two advisors she'd seen at their last meeting. 

"No wand wielder or elf will touch The Blade of Aletheia. Understood?" growled the advisor who had not spoken at all last week. 

Hermione glanced to Kreacher, who looked up at her and nodded. 

"We understand," she answered.

She then removed her robe and pushed both shirtsleeves up to her elbows making a silent prayer that the goblin wouldn’t knick an artery. Hurock passed the scabbard to the advisor on his right and commanded her to hold out her left arm. She did so and noticed several ear twitches when the three goblins saw her scar. The Head Goblin looked into her face and she nodded before he quickly drew the Blade down the inside of her forearm, underlining the word engraved in her flesh. 

Hermione gasped from the sudden strike but quickly acknowledged that it didn’t actually hurt. Instead, there was a rather intense tingling sensation across her skin at the site of the cut. 

The three goblins stepped down from the dais and joined their brethren while the witch turned to face the council and immediately sat down to be closer to eye level, asking Kreacher to sit next to her. This resulted in an eruption of Gobbledegook from the advisors before Hurock silenced them with another command. 

"I'm sorry," she apologized, looking between Hurock and the potential king, "I did not mean to offend anyone."

The Head Goblin merely waved his long fingers at her. "It is no matter. They are simply not as accustomed to your strange ways as I am," he stated with a glint in his eyes. 

Hermione looked along the council line and saw looks of apprehension and curiosity. She glanced at the buzzing wound and held her arm askew so that her blood would drip onto the dais and not her clothing. 

"I'll tell you what I know about Tom Riddle, the wizard who uses the name Lord Voldemort, and how that relates to the Horcrux, or soul anchor held within an item in the Lestrange vault," she began. The blood along her cut appeared like paste. It was visible on the surface of her skin, but stayed in a thick line. Hermione had a strange desire to feel its texture. 

She focused back on the council and continued the story of Helga Hufflepuff's cup and how it came to Bellatrix Lestrange who hid it away in her vault. She described its appearance in detail along with its location in the vault itself. And although it wasn't strictly necessary, she told the goblins how Kreacher was used by Voldemort to store another Horcrux and then left for dead. She told them how two days ago, she had destroyed another Horcrux with Kreacher and another wizard's help. Hermione spoke the truth for fifteen minutes and not a single drop of her blood ever left her wounded arm. 

None of the goblins interrupted. Occasionally their ears would twitch, or hands would curl into fists or around pommels of swords and spears but the chamber remained silent. When she finished, she looked to Hurock who spoke with the advisor at his side. After two terse statements, the goblin in navy practically ran from the room. 

“How do you know these things?”

Hermione heard the question but couldn’t determine who had spoken as she looked down the line of goblins. 

“I am under no obligation to tell you how this knowledge came to me,” she insisted and felt the first drops of blood trickle down her wrist. “You asked me to prove the artefact in question does indeed belong to Voldemort and not a Lestrange, and I have done so.”

General grumblings broke out around the council, some in English and some in Gobbledegook. The fingertips of apprehension started to grip her. She was not lying, but she was avoiding telling the truth and the cut or Blade seemed to understand it as deceit, as did the goblins. 

Hurock gave a command, again cutting off the room, before turning to her. “Why will you not tell us?” he asked. 

“The knowledge I have regarding Tom Riddle was provided to me in secrecy by a trusted friend. I have been working for years to keep it from Death Eaters. I have been interrogated and branded,” she gestured to her forearm where her blood was again thick and sticky, “by Voldemort’s followers who thought they could torture me into submission. But still I have kept it secret.

“Please understand that I have no issue with goblins. I respect you and your magic and acknowledge that it is different from my own. I choose to not share the source of my knowledge because it is safer for you,” she confessed. She wasn’t sure if that statement would be considered a lie, but it was something she wholeheartedly believed. “I choose to not share the source of my knowledge because it is safer for me,” she added. Strangely, this final statement caused the blood to run down her hand and along her pinkie finger. 

At that moment, the advisor who had been previously dismissed came into the room with Hufflepuff’s cup. He spoke Gobbledegook to the room at large while he swiftly walked to the dais and set the goblet down. The council members all took a step back, their eyes narrowed to slits.

Kreacher walked over and timidly picked up the cup. His shoulder slumped and the wrinkles on his face deepened.

“Kreacher feels it, Miss. He can sense the evil. The same as the locket,” he stuttered as Hermione joined him. 

She looked at The Head Goblin and the King. “Do I have the council’s permission?”

A quick exchange of Gobbledegook ended in what appeared to be a vote.

“Proceed,” Hurock commanded.

Kreacher helped her pull the dragonhide gloves and jar of fangs from her bag as she warned the group, “When destroyed, these items can let out a strong surge of magic. You may want some sort of cover or shelter.”

The goblins responded by drawing their swords and leveling their spears, creating a loose arrow formation with Hurock as the head and the King guarded in the back line. The Head Goblin now held the unsheathed Blade of Aletheia as if prepared for battle.

Hermione had the sudden thought that destroying this cup would be much easier, knowing she had done it once before. However she quickly found this to be a mistake. As soon as the fang touched the cup, the entire chamber convulsed as if a giant had picked it up and shook it, causing the tooth to slip from her grasp. Most of the goblins lost their footing as the stone underneath them quaked. The sand that separated her from the goblins blew upwards into some form she could not decipher, creating a wall of blinding grit. She grabbed her wand from the front pocket of her jumper and cast a cushioning and shielding charm for Kreacher and the goblins but in the same instant, a silver blade shone out, striking the cup. The dais cracked where she stood and Hermione was plunged into darkness as she fell head first onto a stone bench.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did anyone else feel like "love" was a somewhat lacking excuse for why Voldemort's killing curse did not kill Harry in 1981? You can't tell me Lily Potter was the only person to ever sacrifice herself in a war.   
> I suppose that's just the Hermione in me - wanting a logical explanation, even in the face of so many other illogical and irrational (read: magical) things.


	18. CHAPTER 17: SUBCONSCIOUS

CHAPTER 17: SUBCONSCIOUS 

Remus shut his eyes and sighed heavily, sinking down onto the hard waiting room bench at St. Mungo’s. He’d had today off and had offered to come with Sirius to his follow up appointment with the healer. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the letter he'd now read at least a dozen times.

_Dear Remus,_

_First and foremost, we want you around Harry as much as possible. But with current laws being what they are, we can't risk him being sent to someone that the Wizengamot feels is “more suitable.” Please know we would have chosen you as his guardian if we could._

_Second, don’t you dare complain about receiving a percentage of our assets. You are our friend, our brother, our family, and families provide for one another. I know Sirius will take good care of you, but you never know when independent funds can come in handy. Please remember that it’s okay to be taken care of._

_Enough of that mushy shite - I expect you to do the following for Harry:_

  * _Teach him how to defend himself_


  * Show him how cool scars can really be


  * Make sure he knows how to study (Lily’s addition)
  * Tell him when he’s gone too far - I know you always tried with me and Pads, but maybe you’ll have better luck with our boy



_Remus, Lily here - I’m entrusting you that Severus’ letter reaches him. It seems as if our days are numbered and it’s important to me that he sees it. Thank you in advance. I know you will be an incredible role model to Harry and will help him navigate the obstacles of growing up without his parents. Also, take care of Sirius, he’ll need you more than you know._

_All our love and blessings,_

_Prongs and Lily_

Reading it never got easier. Looking at the handwriting was like a punch to the gut and the sentiments it contained created a vice grip on his heart. It was quintessential James and Lily, a written reminder of how much he missed them. 

Moony folded the letter and tucked it back into the pocket of his robes. He expected Sirius back any minute and he stood to pace the waiting room floor. He'd made it to the end of the large room by the double doors where Healers called for patients, and had turned back towards the front desk when a house elf popped into the waiting room with an unconscious witch directly in his line of sight. 

It took no time for Remus to acknowledge the witch was Hermione Granger. In less time than that, the elf disappeared, leaving the woman on the floor. If he'd not been looking in that exact spot, he would have missed the creature altogether. 

Moony ran up to her left side, hoping he was accurate in his assumption that she was only unconscious. It was easy to tell she was breathing as she wore no robes over her muggle clothing. Her denims looked a bit dusty and the sleeves of her jumper were pushed to her elbows. If this wasn't a hospital floor, he'd assume she was sleeping. 

A Healer reached them and started peppering him with questions. 

"Name?"

"Hermione Granger"

"Date of Birth?"

"I don't know, I-"

"What can you tell us about her condition?"

"Nothing, I wasn't with-"

"Are you aware of any potions she's using or allergies she has?"

"NO. You're not liste-"

"We're taking her back to triage. This way."

A Healer's Assistant arrived with floating stretcher. Remus contemplated just sitting back down in the waiting room but something about this frail woman being alone in the hospital bothered him immensely. They levitated her onto the stretcher and he subconsciously picked up the woman's thin arm to lay it next to her. His hand came away with a smear of blood and he gasped. 

The Healer noticed his motion and quickly turned over both the witch's arms. There were no noticeable wounds. But the scars he saw indicated obscene violence and Remus felt slightly sick. The word 'Mudblood' was carved into her left arm and the right arm had a burn scar that extended from halfway up her forearm and disappeared under her sleeve. 

Remus immediately sent a patronus to Sirius, indicating he should ask for Miss Granger's room at the front desk of the hospital when he was finished and motioned for the Healer to lead them onward. 

Ten minutes later, the assistant had charmed her into a hospital gown and two healers had each done a full set of diagnostics. Neither told Moony any results, but both frowned upon completing their tests. Sirius arrived shortly afterwards, looking for answers. 

"You're sure an elf brought her in?"

"Yes. I was staring right at it… him, when he apparated into the lobby."

"Was he about knee height? Long hairy ears and a bulbous nose?"

"Yes, Pads, but that describes almost half the house elves I've ever seen. Why does it matter? We can't summon him back to explain."

"It just aligns with something I overheard her say on Friday," Sirius mumbled. There were several seconds of silence before he continued. "But why are you back here?"

Moony shrugged, "I just… I couldn't leave her. Whoever this woman is, she's suffered greatly and the wolf couldn't abandon her."

He wanted to tell Sirius about the scars, but it felt too personal. Remus would not want a near stranger discussing his scars while he lay unconscious in the hospital. 

A third Healer came in and seemed to complete the same tests.

"Is there anything you can tell us?" Moony begged. The lack of information irritated him. 

"Are you family?"

"Friends, actually," Sirius added smoothly. "She has no family."

The older Healer looked Padfoot over from head to toe before giving her patient a pitying glance. 

"Well, seeing as how she's not able to confirm, I'll tell you that primarily she seems to be suffering from head trauma."

"Like she hit her head? I don't see any signs of impact," Sirius murmured, looking critically at Miss Granger's curls. 

"That's it?" Remus inquired. "Nothing more insidious?"

"Well, it's curious. There's a small amount of swelling on her right brow and signs of residual magic. She may have been healed before being dumped in the lobby. Or it could be something else entirely."

"Residual magic? Like dark magic?" Remus was confused. He wanted to lay his hand on the small witch's brow to understand what the Healer was saying, but he tried to remind himself he had no consent to touch the woman. 

"Dark magic? If Snivelly did this to her, I'll kill him," Padfoot growled, looking at Moony. 

The Healer's face scrunched up in confusion. "Actually it's neither light or dark magic. Even as the head of the ward, it's something I've never seen. We'll have to ask her what she remembers when she wakes."

Remus settled his hand on the other wizard's shoulder to calm him, but continued to converse with the Healer. 

"So she will wake?" He was surprised by the hope in his own voice. 

"Yes. Eventually. Her body seems to be taking this time to recover from exhaustion."

"You're telling us she's just… sleeping?" Sirius attempted to clarify. 

The Healer nodded, "When I say exhaustion, I mean both magically and physically. I'm seeing some signs she's suffered from malnutrition, as well as older nerve damage that could be from the _cruciatus_. She also has several curse scars but none of those appear to be recent."

At that moment, the sleeping witch started to twitch and whimper. Her thin fingers stretched before clawing into the sheets of the hospital bed. Moony recognized the signs of a nightmare. He'd had enough of his own and had a front row seat to Padfoot's every night. The Healer indicated she'd return with Dreamless Sleep Potion and a Sleeping Draught. 

Sirius walked round to the opposite side of the bed and the two wizards continued their silent vigil, feeling helpless as they watched Miss Granger suffer. After a minute, she raised her hands out in front of her as if pushing away an attacker. Without thinking, Remus grabbed her hand, moving it back to her side and trying to rub soothing circles into her skin with his thumb. 

"Miss Granger… Hermione… you're alright. You're safe," he whispered. 

He watched Sirius take hold of her other hand and squeeze it reassuringly. 

The witch's eyes fluttered open just long enough for her to look at their faces. 

She slurred, "Remus? Sirius? … Don't worry. We'll protect him... I won't let you die… this… time," before her hands went slack and she fell back asleep as the Healer bustled back into the room. 

oooOooo

Severus stalked down the hallway of St. Mungo's. He was deliberate with his steps to keep the appearance that he was calm, when in reality his heart was racing and his lungs seemed to have shrunk several sizes. 

Kreacher had been waiting in his office at Hogwarts immediately after he'd returned from a staff meeting. As soon as the elf explained what happened, Severus had sprinted to the apparition point trying to get to St. Mungo's. He tried to tell himself that he was primarily concerned because she was the only person with all the information to truly end the Dark Lord. Without Hermione now, there would surely be a second war and even worse, there would be no future Hermione in Hogwarts to protect Lily’s son as a student. But a very small part of Snape could also acknowledge that this was his first friend who had no expectation of him and did not judge his choices. Even Lily had been disappointed by him. He was not sure he could survive another friend’s death. 

He stopped at the door of the hospital room and was about to enter when he heard mumbles from inside. He cast _acuiliato,_ his invention and opposite of a _muffliato,_ at the door and froze. Black and Lupin’s voices were clear and the idea of them somehow knowing Hermione was here and being allowed by her bedside made him furious. 

“It makes no sense, Pads. I don’t think your theory is correct, but at this point I don’t think the truth makes any more sense.”

“If you don’t believe me, Moony, then I’ll find someone who does.”

“Who would that be? The only person even alive to understand these types of magics is probably Dumbledore, and you made it clear she doesn’t trust him.”

Several seconds of silence passed before Black responded. “Hell, I’ll ask Snape. I’m sure he knows who she really is.”

“Snape will not talk to you.” 

The man in question realized they were talking about Hermione and found it very odd to be in agreement with the werewolf. 

“Yes, he will. We have his letter from Lily, remember?”

When Lupin spoke again, his voice was hard. “You want to blackmail a man for information using a letter from his deceased friend?”

Snape’s rage was reaching a boiling point. These imbeciles had a letter from Lily that was for him and they were holding it?!

“Why not? He’d do the same to us. Besides, we don’t know if she’s actually deceased.”

Snape’s breath stuck in his lungs. Were they actually suggesting that Lily was not dead? For a split second, Severus felt the ballooning effect of hope blossoming in his heart until he remembered he’d held Lily’s dead body last Halloween. He had seen her lifeless green eyes and now felt the nauseating sensation of falling into grief all over again. He could not handle much more of this. He had too many questions that needed answers and he would rip them from these ingrate’s minds if necessary. 

Severus gave one perfunctory knocks before entering the small hospital room. Black and Lupin were standing close to the door, looking anxious and worn upon his entrance. Hermione was sleeping in the hospital bed with no physical indication that anything was wrong. He glanced at the spot on her head where Kreacher indicated the goblins had healed her and idly marvelled at their skill. He noted two potion vials next to the bed that indicated the hospital was keeping her in comfortable sleep, but he strode to the table and sniffed each potion to be sure nothing nefarious was occurring. The short sleeves of the hospital robe exposed her forearms where they laid motionless on the bed and he gently raised her left arm where the elf had indicated she’d been wounded. There was no blood or scar, other than the cursed word she’d already shown him. 

So far, neither of the other two wizards had made a sound and Snape felt an internal spark of glory for catching them so completely off guard. Their thoughts were a cacophony of intrigue and upset. Black was both angered and curious about Snape’s appearance and was working up the Gryffindor courage to ask him for the truth. The wolf’s mind, like all werewolves, was harder to read, as if he were able to use _muffliato_ on his thoughts, allowing only general emotions to be conveyed. Something seemed to have changed in the last week and Lupin felt oddly empathetic towards him. 

In order to avoid whatever horribly awkward conversation Lupin was no doubt working towards, Severus knew he’d need to keep the element of surprise. 

“Tell me,” he began, the acid in his tone coming naturally after years of enmity, “why exactly do you think Lily is alive?”

The werewolf shook his head but Black was, of course, the one who spoke first, “We don’t think she’s alive. But we...” he looked at Lupin and cocked his head like a dog would when confused, “Alright, I, believe her soul or mind may still be…” The shorter wizard trailed off and stared at Hermione. 

Snape quickly put the pieces together from the wizard's thoughts and statement. 

“You believe Lily is alive in the form of Miss Granger?” he sneered.

Lupin put up a hand in a conciliatory manner. “She has told Sirius a lot of accurate information that we believe only Lily could or would know.”

Severus looked from the wolf to Black, whose thoughts were centered on a letter from Lily and a chest of information, including the Last Will and Testament of James and Lily Potter. Snape sighed internally, wishing Hermione had allowed him to _obliviate_ Black and be done with it. 

Thinking of Lily and the will brought him back to the prior overheard conversation. “Where is Lily’s letter?” he asked, thinking Black’s mind might give it away.

Instead, Lupin reached into his pocket and handed it to him. 

Snape thanked Merlin for the small mercy that his hand did not shake when he reached for the envelope. He saw his own name in Lily’s handwriting, something he had not seen in seven years and he blinked quickly to stifle a tidal wave of emotion before shoving the envelope into his robe pocket. Looking into Hermione’s peaceful face, he admitted quietly, “Hermione and Lily would have had much in common. But I assure you, they are very different witches.” 

“But… her knowledge is… impossible,” Black stammered. Severus should have been amused by how off-balance he’d made the wizard, but he could only think of the letter and wonder what his ex-best friend had wanted him to know. The letter brought him back to the chest they’d found.

He looked piercingly at the two wizards across the room. “If you have the will, then you need to work on getting Lily’s son from Petunia immediately. Lily would not have wanted-”

Black’s mind and tone turned incredulous as he interrupted, “You know Harry’s with Petunia?” He turned to Lupin, throwing out both hands and practically shouting, “Dumbledore won’t deign to respond to my letters or requests for meetings and yet Snape knows?”

The werewolf slowly placed his arm around the shoulder of the irate wizard but looked at Severus. “Do you know why Dumbledore placed Harry with Petunia?”

“I do not. But she,” he turned back to the still-sleeping witch, “might.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping the formatting on that letter actually worked. It was a bit hard to tell from my device. 
> 
> Also - you can't tell me that Snape never invented a spell to help him eavesdrop.


	19. CHAPTER 18: WE'LL FIND IT

CHAPTER 18: WE'LL FIND IT

"Sirius. Sirius, look at me! You cannot risk magic with those muggles. Think of Harry. He may never leave, or if he does, he'd have to go to Ms. Bagshot if you go back to Azkaban."

Sirius had moved past incensed to irate and was now fucking furious. He had knocked on the door of Petunia's home--a house they only knew of because Snape, of all people, had given them the address--expecting to politely inquire after Harry's welfare. Instead he was met by a skulking Petunia and a monstrous arsehole who demanded he and Remus clear off his property before he called the police. This threat was followed by several homophobic epithets and insults. Sirius had not forgotten the general prejudice of the muggle world, but this man's attitude was definitely beyond the pale. 

They had walked down the street another few houses and Moony was trying to reason with him, but Sirius would not be calmed. 

"No, Remus. There's no way that disgusting excuse for a man can be around my godson for one more second. I'm going back in there by force if necessary."

The other wizard grasped his shoulder and Moony's grip made him wince. 

"Do you even remember last year with Peter? You ran off half cocked. And what happened?" Remus growled. "You were separated from Harry. You were separated from me. And I won't do that again, Sirius. I can't." His voice cracked on the last word.

Padfoot stood on the pavement, his body vibrating in anger. 

"Besides, we don't know why Dumbledore has him here and we aren't prepared to take home a toddler," Moony continued, practically pulling Sirius' arm out of its socket to get him away from the Dursleys. "I want Harry with us. He belongs with us as family. I can feel it. Just like I felt it with James. Just like I-" he trailed off suddenly, his grip going slack. 

Padfoot's mind was now divided between giving these muggles a taste of the Black Family insanity and trying to figure out what Remus had been saying. His wizard now leaned against the nearest lamppost, lost in thought, as if he’d completely forgotten Sirius’ threats. 

Moony’s words finally broke through his righteous anger and Padfoot gasped, “You’re saying Hermione’s family?”

Remus’ sandy fringe hung across his green eyes as he stared at his feet. “I think so?” he murmured. He looked up sharply, “Remember that pact we did as Marauder brothers in our fifth year?”

Sirius nodded. It had been right after they’d achieved their animagus forms and had snuck out to show Moony their accomplishment. 

“We joined our blood, our magic, and ever since then I could… the wolf could… sense you, almost like feeling someone familiar cross wards on your property. When Harry was born, I could sense him too, although it was less pronounced. And it’s the same with Miss Granger.”

“Did we all give off the same… feeling?” Sirius queried. He did not want to bring up Peter. He was still too angry and horrified that someone he once chose as a brother could be so monstrous.

“No,” Moony answered quickly. Their eyes met and they knew they were each avoiding the idea of Wormtail. “Each of you were slightly different - like varying shades of the same color.”

“Did you feel it with Lily?”

Remus shook his head and Sirius lurched against the lamppost. 

“So… Miss Granger is…”

“A Potter,” Remus concluded. 

oooOooo

Hermione was dreaming. She knew this. But it was so pleasant compared to her usual nightmares. She was underneath the heavy apron that her parents would use when giving dental x-rays as a child. The weight was comforting. She could hear her mum laughing in the other room. Her dad walked up to her with a large smile and asked, "Are you ever going to wake up?"

Her eyes popped open, as it had not been her father's voice, but Snape's, invading her dream. 

She quickly acknowledged she was in St. Mungo's, and immediately sat up to leave. Hermione hated hospitals. 

Feeling a hand steady her shoulder, she looked over to see Severus sitting beside the bed, a copy of  _ Potions Quarterly  _ in his lap. 

She blinked at him, her mind slowly realizing this taciturn man had not only come to check on her, but waited until she woke up.

"How did I get here?" Her voice was still heavy with sleep.

The wizard's eyes searched her face. "Kreacher brought you to the waiting room after the goblins healed your head wound."

Goblins? Hermione searched her hazy memories then turned her forearm over to inspect her skin. Nothing remained from the Blade of Aletheia and she sighed. She'd have liked to study the artefact more closely, but she doubted the goblins would let her near it again. Maybe she could get hold of a Pensieve and study that; just another item for ' _ Things to Research when Time Allows. _ '

"Did I at least destroy the cup?"

"According to what Kreacher shared with me, the cup was destroyed and the goblins were satisfied," he advised. 

The witch nodded and quickly realized her muscles were all quite stiff. 

"How long have I been sleeping?" 

Severus cast a  _ tempus  _ charm and cleared his throat. "You were admitted here yesterday, approximately 22 hours and 34 minutes ago."

Hermione's eyebrows raised significantly. She hadn't slept that long since the week after the Battle of Hogwarts. 

Snape raised an eyebrow at her mute response. "Do you ever sleep?"

She looked to her arms and realized the hospital robes were short sleeved. Crossing her forearms securely across her chest, she admitted, "Usually three or four hours at most. Most of the time the nightmares wake me, and there's just so much to do."

The room was silent and Hermione waited several seconds to raise her eyes to Severus. His lips were pursed, but his gaze was far away. 

She coughed lightly. "Do you think I can leave? I don't… care for hospitals."

He focused back on her and for the briefest moment, she could have sworn he was worried. "I imagine the Healer will want to check you again now that you're conscious."

She gave a resigned nod and adjusted the pillows to sit against them. 

She hesitated, "Thank you… for being here."

Hermione knew gratitude made him uncomfortable, but knowing that he waited for her to wake up meant a great deal to her. 

He simply looked at her and gave a short nod before changing the subject. 

"Speaking of things we don't care for, Black and Lupin were here yesterday when I arrived. They found the Potter's will and other documents, but they'll need answers sooner rather than later."

"Answers?"

"Answers as to who or what you really are," he sighed, crossing an ankle over his knee. "Black has some inane theory that you are actually Lily reincarnated, as if her soul resides inside your own."

She pondered this idea while Severus pulled a scrap of parchment from his pocket. 

"And this morning," he held the missive out to her, "they sent this:"

_ Snape. We need to see her ASAP. We think she's a Potter. _

The short note had been written in Remus' handwriting but several words at the beginning had been crossed out in what Hermione assumed was Sirius' hand. 

She started to gnaw on her lower lip. This new theory was technically correct, but how could they know? More importantly, how many people could know her true story before it was leaked to the general public? She trusted Sirius and Remus, but neither of them were particularly careful. She wondered if they knew occlumency. 

"Well, they're not wrong," she shrugged. 

Snape jerked his head in her direction so quickly, he’d likely suffer whiplash. 

"Explain," he hissed, drawing out the word for several unnecessary seconds. 

Hermione reached over to pat his ankle. "Harry adopted me into his family line. So, magically speaking, I am a Potter."

Severus' brow furrowed but he said nothing further. 

"What do you mean they found other documents with the will?" she asked, as they continued to wait for a Healer. 

"There were letters written to their friends, and some other things. I didn't get a clear picture from Black's mind," he admitted. 

She was about to berate him for prying through people's thoughts without permission when he murmured, "Lily wrote me a letter."

Hermione's mind screeched to a stop. On one hand, her heart ached, knowing the Severus in her old timeline never received that letter. She assumed it must be forgiveness or apology, otherwise why waste a letter. On the other hand, it was one more variable that she'd inadvertently changed in the timeline.

She watched Severus grip his periodical until his knuckles turned white but she knew he would tell her more only if he was ready. Instead, she squeezed his ankle as it was the only part of his body within reach. 

"I'm glad she did. I hope it brings you peace."

He simply looked at the floor and nodded. 

oooOooo 

“How long are we going to wait, Moony?" Sirius groaned from the front of the shop. 

Remus heard him from the second shelf and joined him by the window. 

"We can't get answers from a witch who's not conscious, Pads," Remus reminded him gently. 

"Why do you think she's so exhausted anyway? What are her and Snape really up to?"

Moony sighed. He'd heard these same questions from Sirius last night and again earlier today. He had the same concerns, but didn't see the point in voicing them all the time. 

"Look, why don't you try to keep yourself busy?" he suggested. "How about you take the will to Gringotts and have them verify it?"

"What sort of family member do you think she could be?" Sirius continued as if Remus hadn't spoken. "Do you… do you think Prongs had a sister and never told us?" 

Moony read between the lines and realized Padfoot was anxious not only about getting the answers, but what those answers meant for the friendship they'd shared with James. 

He set his hands on Sirius' waist and gently turned him until he could see the silver of his eyes. "I'm sure there's a logical explanation, and we'll find it." He punctuated the statement with a gentle kiss that was thankfully returned. "Besides," he added, aiming for levity, "Miss Granger doesn't look like Prongs at all."

Sirius leaned into Moony's embrace. "Lucky for her," he joked softly. "But she does have that untameable hair." He ran his fingers through Remus' own shaggy locks as he said this, causing the taller wizard to shiver. 

All concerns and anxieties were forgotten as Padfoot started to kiss his way up the column of Remus' throat. The taller wizard was relieved. For years, Sirius had used physical gratification as a distraction. It had given him quite the reputation, but Moony had been one of the few to see it for what it really was: a coping mechanism. While Remus’ words didn’t seem to calm Padfoot, he knew this would. With that thought, Moony's fingers traced the breadth of Sirius' back and shoulders before maneuvering the wizard backwards against the nearest shelf of books. 

Their passionate embrace was interrupted by a short squeak. 

"Oh! If you're... busy, I can come back later."

Both wizards turned slowly to see Miss Granger standing just inside the door of the shop. Remus noticed she had a fairly pretty blush even though a playful smirk danced over her features. 

"Sorry, we were just…" he trailed off, having no idea where that statement was headed. 

"Talking about you," Padfoot interjected, his hands still tucked into the belt loops of Remus' trousers. 

The witch scanned them from head to toe as she bit the corner of her lip. The look created a strange swooping sensation in Moony's gut. 

"I'm not sure how, as your mouths were both thoroughly engaged," she teased before shaking her head as if clearing her thoughts. 

"I actually came by to see if you could meet me this evening, so we can talk," she explained, now looking anywhere but at the two wizards. 

"Talk, or talk?" Sirius stressed the word to make the innuendo abundantly clear. 

The witch tried to look stern in response, but it was ruined by the slight raise of her lips. "Look, I know you want answers.” She held out a small parchment that Remus hastily snatched, "Come to that address tonight once the store is closed. It's my flat."

With that, she turned and left with only a furtive glance over her shoulder.


	20. CHAPTER 19: IT'S ALL COMING TOGETHER

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise!  
> *Insert obligatory apology and excuses for delay here*  
> :)

CHAPTER 19: IT'S ALL COMING TOGETHER

The brisk pace of his footfalls up the stone steps created a rhythm which Severus used to count his breathing. His occlumency needed to hold for this meeting, lives depended on it. Six steps for every inhale, two step hold, five step exhale. At every inhale, he pushed his knowledge of the elder Hermione Granger into the hidden depths of his mind and with every exhale, he brought forward the search he’d conducted to find the child at Albus’ request. 

Snape was so focused on his technique that he did not initially hear the sound of approaching voices as he neared the Headmaster’s office. After two seconds though, he paused mid-stride and listened to Professor McGonagall.

“But Albus, what can it mean? You-Know-Who is gone, his followers arrested or in hiding. Furthermore, how can someone come through time, anyway?”

“I’m afraid I do not know, Minerva,” was Dumbledore’s answering remark. Severus noted the man sounded weary.

“But you have theories,” came the witch’s tight response. 

“Some conjecture. Nothing promising.” 

Conversation paused here, and Snape imagined Professor McGonagall was giving the Headmaster her pinched and piercing stare. The one that typically worked on children, but certainly would not work on Dumbledore. 

“Where is Sybil now?” Dumbledore asked.

“Back up in that tower, I suppose. I should have known something was off when I saw her lingering by the kitchen. You know she rarely comes out of her perch,” McGonagall sniffed. 

Severus flinched. He knew better than anyone that Sybil Trelawney was a seer. Could she have made another prophecy regarding The Dark Lord? And if it involved someone travelling through time… well, there’s only one someone that could be. 

He knocked on the Headmaster's door and was bid to enter. Albus sat in front of a pensieve and his gaze made it clear he knew Severus had overheard. A challenge was evident in those piercing blue eyes that x-rayed his intentions. Apparently Dumbledore was willing to give him a second chance both to redeem himself, but also make the same mistakes. But Severus had learned his lesson with partial prophecies and refused to give him the satisfaction of commenting. 

"I have conducted a search for Hermione Granger as you've asked, Headmaster. Unfortunately, muggle means of research are," he paused to flick his gaze to McGonagall and back, "cumbersome at best. I've not located any recent newspaper headlines or obituaries but will continue the search."

Both true statements, but of course not nearly accurate. 

Albus folded his hands on the desk, while Minerva looked between the wizards, likely waiting for someone to explain the terse conversation. Severus refused to give her the satisfaction and as soon as the Headmaster acknowledged his statement, he practically flew from the room to avoid any further questions. 

ooOoo 

Remus gasped as his wand flew from his pocket, joining Sirius’ and Snape’s in the witch’s outstretched palm. He’d not even had his out when they’d barely made it through the wards on Miss Granger’s flat. Someone, possibly Snape, said something snide. As it was, Sirius had been on edge all day and really needed no reason to go flying off the handle and wands were drawn within a minute of their admittance. 

“You are in my home and we have important business to discuss,” the witch huffed. “I have reminded you before and I will do so again for the last time - you are grown men,” she glared between the two raven-haired wizards. “Act like it!” A few curious sparks flew from the ends of her curls and Remus was enthralled. He noticed both Snape and Sirius flinch at the raw display of magic. 

She stuffed the wands into the strange purse she’d had in the bookshop and motioned them to sit around the coffee table where she had a tea set and a bottle of Firewhiskey. Remus sat on the loveseat with Sirius and she and Snape took the armchairs opposite them. Just as they were pouring drinks in a tense silence, a Patronus landed in front of Miss Granger. It looked like a stoat or a weasel.

The animal spoke, “Sorry to hear you’ve been under the weather. If you’re up for it, I’ve got an assignment tomorrow in the office and Molly says she’ll send some extra soup. Will eleven work for you?”

He watched the witch’s smile turn from affectionate to determined as she carefully flicked her wand in a small circle, resulting in a bright ring of silver mist. This action was followed by a heavy exhale, then a summoning of quill and parchment. After scribbling a quick note, she got out of her seat to send off her owl.

She sighed as she sat back into the armchair with a cup of tea, “A few housekeeping items - I swear on my honor as a Gryffindor to tell you the truth during this meeting. However,” she held up a finger and Remus was momentarily distracted by Snape rolling his eyes, “None of the information I share can leave this flat.”

"What Gryffindor honor? You weren't in Gryffindor...

The witch looked piercingly between him and Sirius. “How’s your occlumency?” 

Sirius snorted, “I haven’t used occlumency since the last time I was at a family reunion.”

Miss Granger’s face displayed a look of… commiseration? Apparently, the Black Family legacy proceeded itself. But she encouraged him, “Try it now. Try to occlude something you don’t want Severus to know.”

Padfoot clearly panicked for a moment, before focusing on the cup in his hand. 

Remus cleared his throat, “Miss Granger, I-”

“Hermione, please,” she invited with a grin.

“Hermione,” he amended, “I… well, I’m a bit of a different case. I don’t need occlumency.” 

Her brow furrowed. “Don’t need it? Why? What makes you so diff… oh,” she concluded, eyes going wide. She looked at Snape who shifted his gaze to her just as Sirius started panting and rubbing the spot between his eyebrows. 

“It’s true. Werewolves’ thoughts are harder to read. It seems to be a natural defense built into the lycanthropic strain,” Snape advised. He looked like he’d rather be anywhere than across the coffee table from them.

“Bloody hell,” Sirius moaned and knocked Remus’ knee with his own. “Did you know Snape could do legilimency without a wand?” 

Remus pondered this while the mechanism built into his self-defense mode noted the witch either already knew he was a werewolf, or didn’t seem to care.

Now that Sirius was given a reprieve, their conversation seemed to catch up with him. "Did Snivellus tell you about Moony?" he growled at Hermione.

Her eyes flashed. "Severus," she stressed the proper name, "did not tell me that you used Remus to try and murder or maim a student when you were a teenager. Which, trust me, we will have words about at another time."

Sirius winced and shrunk back into his seat. Moony didn’t blame him as the witch appeared to be gaining steam.

"Honestly, Sirius Orion Black, I don’t know how you’ve managed to survive this long with your hot-headed behavior. If you do not learn to control your temper I will make it so your stint in Azkaban felt like a picnic in the park," she finished with a threatening growl that was punctuated by a handful of sparks shooting out of the ends of her curls. 

She took a long sip of tea and when she looked up, her gaze was playful. “You think Moony is a clever covert nickname, do you?” she asked, eyes flickering between the two wizards. 

Snape released the slightest hint of a snort and the witch turned to him.

“How did he do?” Hermione inquired, gesturing to Padfoot and then her own head.

“I saw some very embarrassing things, but nothing surprising,” Snape sneered. “Overall, it was adequate, but you should minimize your time around Dumbledore unless you’re going to practice more,” he advised.

Sirius glowered at the wizard for several seconds.

“I heard that,” Snape disclosed in his usual deadpan delivery. 

Remus found himself chuckling, along with Hermione and for the briefest shocking moment, Snape’s own lip curled up into the barest hint of a smile.

“Good enough,” the witch declared after a sip of tea, “Now will you please tell me how you know I’m a Potter?” 

Sirius coughed, spitting tea back into his cup. “So it’s true?”

She nodded, “But until today, only Gringotts knew, and I trust the goblins with my life. So how did you find out?”

Remus found himself wondering if he’d ever heard a witch or wizard admit to trusting goblins. He would have stayed lost in thought if Padfoot didn’t nudge his knee again.

“Sorry,” he stammered, “I… well, you know I’m a werewolf.” He paused here to check her reaction. She nodded neutrally and leaned forward, setting her cup on the table, so he pressed onward, “The wolf can sense your magic. The same way I could sense James after we did a blood pact as boys.”

The witch’s eyebrows rose. “The same way you can sense Harry?” she queried.

“Yes. The exact same.”

Hermione slumped back into her seat and started tapping her fingertips on the arm of the chair as she gazed to the overstuffed wall of books in her sitting room. She spoke hesitantly, “I am muggle born but last year, when I was 18, I was adopted into the Potter family. The act was ritually completed by blood and magic.” She looked back to their group and searched their faces. “So technically speaking, I am a Potter,” she concluded. 

“Last year, the only Potter alive who could complete such a ritual was James,” Sirius accused. 

The witch looked not at him, but through him. “If by last year I meant 1981, then you would be correct.”

Remus looked at Sirius who wore his identical expression of confusion. The only person who moved was Snape, who opened the bottle of Firewhiskey and poured some into each of the teacups, including his own. 

Hermione sighed, “Perhaps it will make more sense if I start at the beginning.” She took a sip of the Firewhiskey tea and grimaced before clearing her throat, “I am Hermione Jean Granger and I was born September 19, 1979…”

oooOooo

All in all, the telling of Hermione’s tale did not take very long. Severus quickly realized she was editing most of the details he had previously seen in her mind. But these were simple Gryffindors, and they trusted her much more on her word. He realized that also meant Hermione had given him exactly what he’d need to trust her. She really was a brilliant intuitive witch.

She spoke of Harry Potter facing Voldemort, of their hunt for horcruxes. She even talked about Regulus’ involvement, which was something Snape had not previously known. This topic left Black looking morose.

“So it was Harry who adopted you as his sister,” Lupin clarified at the end of her speech. 

“Yes. Harry had been my brother and best friend for several years before, as he put it, he made it official,” she grinned, but her eyes were sad.

“But he died,” Black guessed. Everyone looked to him, as Hermione had not explicitly stated as much. 

“Harry died six months later. Along with his soon-to-be fiancé, and half the town of Hogsmeade,” Hermione replied flatly.

Black poured his third cup of Firewhiskey, sloshing some over the side of the cup. “Prove it,” he retorted. 

Severus scowled at his manners. 

“You don’t believe me?” she inquired, narrowing her eyes at the wizard. Snape could hear the danger in her tone and apparently so could Lupin, as he gave his wizard a side glance that spoke volumes. 

“Quite frankly, I have lived through a lot of horrible truths and horrible hallucinations in the past year. So please, humor me,” Black grunted.

Hermione continued to stare at him, but she looked less angry and more calculating. After several moments, she reached into the beaded purse at her side. Her arm vanished, almost up to her armpit and Severus saw both wizards stare at the bag in shock. She pulled out a cloak that was unlike any he’d seen before. It was silvery and fluid. 

“You know what this is,” she said, holding it out to the wizards on the loveseat. “And you know who owned it.” Both wizards nodded mutely. “It was passed to me in Harry’s will, along with-” she trailed off and looked directly at Black.

“Along with?” he prodded.

“Kreacher.” 

Black jumped from the small sofa as the house elf appeared at Hermione’s side before instantly disappearing. 

"It's alright, Kreacher. They know the truth."

"Miss Hermione," Kreacher appeared next to the witch's knee, "Kreacher was worried. He had to leave you at the hospital unattended."

Hermione smiled warmly at the elf. "Thank you for your help, Kreacher. You did the right thing. I feel much better now."

Black had moved closer to the kitchen and appeared an odd combination of angry and traumatized. "How can my mother's house elf belong to you?" he gasped. 

"Kreacher serves two mistresses. He felt the call of the bond two weeks ago, when Miss Hermione arrived," he explained.

“Thank you, Kreacher. The same rules apply to these wizards - no one can know our purpose and everything must be secret,” the witch instructed. 

The elf nodded and disappeared. 

"Hold on," Lupin said, slightly louder than was necessary. "You know how to time travel."

Severus pursed his lips. "Yes, well done, Lupin. So glad you caught up with the rest of us."

"Think of what that means though," the wolf exclaimed as he also sprang from the sofa. 

Snape tightened his jaw. Really, why could neither of these men sit still?

But Lupin continued, "We could go further back in time. We could prevent James and Lily from dying. We could prevent Voldemort from ever existing if we desired," he mused aloud. 

Severus saw the spark of hope light in the faces of both men and he could only sigh, matching Hermione’s own exhalation. 

"I'm sorry, Remus. But... we can't.” The witch stared into her teacup as if it held the answers to the universe. “I intended to go back to the day Harry was born, so he would never know a day without his parents, but I was attacked while using the device. It… it won’t work again.”

Lupin fell back into his prior place on the loveseat. “But where did you get the time turner? Couldn’t you get another one?” he pleaded.

Hermione looked up into Lupin’s face and tried to explain, “My device was claimed in a ministry raid in 1998. Its owner at the time was the only remaining scion of a pureblood family that had supported Voldemort.

“I was only able to use it with permission of that owner due to blood wards and curses cast on the research notes and the apparatus itself. If we wanted to find this device now, we would need permission from its current Death Eater owner to ever use it.

“Not to mention, there are… side effects… to using it,” she stammered, looking at Severus from the corner of her eye. “The person using it can only do so within their own lifetime and there are serious consequences to their prior timeline.”

Lupin dropped his head and ran his hands roughshod through his hair while Black poured himself his fifth cup of Firewhiskey. 

"I knew it was too good to be true," Black grumbled.


	21. CHAPTER 20: MEETING OF THE MINDS

CHAPTER 20: MEETING OF THE MINDS

Hermione was in the kitchen collecting another bottle of Firewhiskey and biscuits when she decided to test her patronus again. 

When she had attempted it in the sitting room earlier, she’d thought of her dream that morning, with her mum’s laugh. It was rare that she had any joy from thinking of her parents, but thinking of the dream made her think of Severus. She thought of how he’d been worried about her and about the comfort she felt from having someone waiting for her at St. Mungo’s. For the first time in months, she was not alone. Hermione cast her patronus and as always, marvelled at the beautiful silvery magic. It was not quite corporeal, but there was a definite shape to it. However, it was not the shape of an otter. In fact… were those wings?

“Was that a raven?” Snape asked from the end of the kitchen counter. He’d apparently come to check on her, likely not wanting to be alone with the Marauders. However they followed him into her kitchen. 

“Whaz going on? Was tha’ a bat?” Sirius asked in slurred speech as he lurched over to Remus. The other wizard had to help steady him as Sirius was the one who drank most of the Firewhiskey.

“I… I don’t know. I’ve only just...,” she stuttered and then shrugged. “It used to be an otter.”

She felt a strange tightness in her chest when she realized she’d never see that playful patronus again. Just one more thing from her past life that was unattainable. 

"You know, a Patronus can be changed by stressful or traumatic situations," Remus offered, not unkindly. 

"Or it can be changed by love," she mumbled, thinking of Tonks. Would that love ever rekindle now?

"So you love Snape?" Sirius gasped, his eyes wide. 

Hermione shook her head to clear her memories.

"I… what? Severus? What makes you think-" She glanced confusedly between the Marauders and Snape who looked incredibly uncomfortable.

"Come on, he goes out his way to look like a big bat. I'm sure his Patronus would match," he shrugged and the gesture was so overdone, he lost his balance again. Moony tried to corral him, giving the other two an apologetic glance. 

The witch raised her eyebrow at them and looked to Severus. “Perhaps you should show them your patronus,” she suggested.

Snape weighed her words as she went to one of the cabinets and pulled down a purple potion. 

"Sober Up Potion," she murmured to Remus as she handed it to him and guided the wizards back into the sitting area, deciding to leave the unopened bottle of alcohol for another time. 

Severus remained in the kitchen, staring out into the darkness of Diagon Alley. 

As they took their prior seats and Remus poured the potion in with Sirius' tea, Snape's Patronus sailed gracefully into the room and cantered around the sitting area. 

The beautiful doe dissolved, leaving Sirius and Remus stunned and pale. Hermione had a better understanding of what seeing that patronus must have meant to Harry when he saw it in the Forest of Dean. 

Sirius stammered, "It's just… like…" 

"Lily's," Remus concluded. 

Hermione watched the wizards clasp hands in comfort and was surprised to feel a slight twinge in her chest.

Knowing that Severus would tell these wizards nothing about his friendship with Lily, she felt the need to intervene. "I know I'm putting it mildly when I say you did not get along with Severus in school," she asserted, eyeing both wizards. "But this is not Hogwarts. All of you have suffered from this war in too many ways. I don't expect you to be friends, but I need you to at least work together. For Harry's sake," she added. 

Sirius chugged his tea. "But, it's Snape," he retorted, his tone conveying he thought her completely barmy.

Hermione was reminded strongly of Ron.

"Yes. And I'm asking all of you to use some bloody empathy!" she snapped. 

The raven-haired wizard ran his thumb and forefinger down his mustache then turned to Moony. "Ya know, I kind of like her when she's angry," he hinted. 

Remus looked askance at the wizard then to her, a flash of gold in his eyes. "Indeed."

Hermione had no idea what to make of that and she was glad to see Severus regain his spot in the armchair next to hers. He sat quite formally on the edge of the seat, as if he planned to leave at any second. 

"Now that we all have a better understanding, We need to talk about the sixth horcrux," she continued their prior discussion. "It is not an actual horcrux but a shard of Voldemort’s soul that was broken away from whatever he had left. And it is not housed within an object, but within a human being."

Her own breath felt very loud in the silence that followed her statement. 

"Who?" Snape asked suspiciously.

"Harry," she sighed and looked into her cup. Someone--probably Sirius--choked on his drink. 

"The effect the Dark Lord’s soul would have on a child would be… severe," the dour wizard cautioned. 

"Yes, but Harry's protected somehow. Dumbledore would have you believe the power of Lily's love protects her son, but it has to be more concrete than that."

Remus suddenly started scrambling for his pocket. He pulled out a tiny wooden chest that he then enlarged to the size of a small suitcase. 

"Lily left this with Ms. Bagshot," he explained as he started to pull out its contents. "It held the will, the letters, and her research into a protective enchantment that she created for Harry."

Hermione’s eyes practically bulged out of her sockets. This new information could answer countless questions she'd had over the years regarding what kept Voldemort from finding and even touching Harry. 

"We didn't know what it meant, or what to do with it," he continued, holding out a stack of parchment and two books, "Lily, of course, was a brilliant witch. But it seems like at least one of you two could probably decipher what she's done."

Severus’ hands flinched closer to the stack of loose parchment. If she didn't know him, she would have missed the subtle, yet telltale signs of intrigue he displayed over this new puzzle. 

She eyed the two books. "Are either of you good with runes?" she inquired. She could do the translation, but she'd be just as happy to never translate another book again.

"I actually started translating some of this already, just to understand what it was," Sirius admitted as he gestured to the smaller text. 

He appeared slightly embarrassed, as if he wasn't used to proclaiming his own intelligence. Hermione supposed he wasn't, as Moony always got the credit for being the bookish one while Sirius only had his aristocratic good looks. But somehow the Marauders created that map, which was no small feat. 

Hermione slid the book across the table to the wizard. "Could you translate the entire thing? That way I can focus on this other text."

Sirius nodded and started flipping through the pages. 

"How do you destroy an actual horcrux?" Remus asked her. 

"You have to destroy its case or object beyond magical repair. It can be dangerous in any circumstance, but the best tool we've found so far is Basilisk fangs filed with venom."

He winced, "Where on Earth did you find a Basilisk?"

"You don't want to know," Snape advised from behind his parchment. 

She huffed, "Either way, I will not risk Harry coming to any harm, so we need to find a way to safely destroy that final piece."

"How was it destroyed before… err, in the future?" Sirius inquired. Now that he was sober, he looked incredibly overwhelmed.

"Well, Dumbledore tried to orchestrate it so that once Harry destroyed all the horcruxes, Voldemort would kill Harry, and in turn actually kill his own soul shard."

Severus’ packet of research fell into his lap as he stared at her along with the other two wizards. 

She shrugged slightly and sighed, “Now you know what we’re up against.”

oooOooo

Later that evening, Sirius got into bed beside Remus and sat against the headboard. Both men had been silent upon leaving Hermione’s flat, lost in their own thoughts and memories. Returning to Moony’s cottage had felt very mundane compared to all they had just learned and a large part of Padfoot still thought he’d wake and find it had all been an intricate dream. 

The wizard next to him exhaled loud and slow. “What a day, Pads. I’d ask you what you thought about it, but frankly I’m not sure what I’d answer to the same question.” 

Sirius nodded mutely. 

“Just think about how simple our lives were this morning,” Remus continued. “And now we’ve learned our entire future is… is... “

“Fucked,” Sirius interjected, finally finding his voice.

Moony sighed, “Sounds about right.”

Several more minutes passed in silence. Neither wizard moved to turn off the bedroom light. 

“I…” Padfoot paused and cleared his throat, “I guess at least we now know why the witch is so mysterious.”

“Ya know, she reminds me of you,” Remus admitted, staring across the room at the small armoire. 

“Oh? Which part? The magical hair? The Gryffindor daring?”

“The loyalty, actually,” Moony replied gently, reaching out to clasp his hand. “Sounds like Harry was her brother just as much as James was yours. The only reason you aren’t doing what she’s doing is the lack of resources.”

It was Sirius’ turn to sigh. Remus was right, of course. Knowing now about Regulus and James and Harry, even Peter - he would go back to the past in a heartbeat if it meant he could change their future or circumvent their betrayal. No matter the cost. 

“Do you think she did all of this only for Harry?” he pondered.

“I think that’s what she wants us to think,” Moony advised. “I take it you noticed she seems to know and trust us, but made no mention of us helping find those horcruxes in her past?

He looked at the sandy-haired wizard and nodded, “I did. I get the impression Harry isn’t the only friend of hers who died.”

“Do you think we were her friends? She would have been a teenager and we would have been…”

“Old,” Sirius grimaced.

More minutes of silence passed before Remus spoke again, “How do you think we died?”

Padfoot eyed him with some concern. That was nowhere close to where his own thoughts had been. “Is that important to know? I mean, in theory she’s already changed our entire future and we were none the wiser.”

The other wizard shook his head. “I guess not,” he mumbled, sliding under the covers and turning off the light. He rolled to face away from Sirius and towards the wall.

Sirius turned the light back on and stared hard at the back of Remus’ head. He didn’t say anything, knowing the wizard would crack eventually.

After half a minute, he finally heard Remus whisper, “I spent a lot of the last year thinking about dying - how it would happen, where would I be, or,” he stopped and audibly swallowed, “if you’d be with me.”

These same thoughts were regular bedfellows for him in Azkaban, but knowing Moony shared his torment caused his lungs to seize. He shifted closer to the wizard, pressing up against his back in comfort. Sirius had no words of wisdom to share; trite condolences would not work here. So he hugged Moony to his chest, tucking a foot between the other wizard’s ankles and listened to their steady heartbeats. If nothing else, at least they were together for whatever brief time the world had granted them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As originally promised (I know, I'm sorry) this story is completed and as of now, basically entirely edited. I even fixed the glaring plot holes (I hope - please let me know your thoughts).  
> So I'll continue to post the remaining chapters every 3-4 days.


	22. CHAPTER 21: THREE TO GO

CHAPTER 21: THREE TO GO

“Yes, he’s gone. The ICW quarterly meeting is today,” Severus confirmed into the flames of his floo. He could see the massive workspace that Hermione had cleared on the wall of her flat. It appeared she had stuck each page of Lily’s research to a separate location to see it all at the same time. He had his own copy of the research and kept it in a warded drawer, along with Lily’s letter which he still had not found the courage to read. 

“Excellent. I’m going to bring Sirius and we’ll be there in 10 minutes,” the witch confirmed as she stuck her mass of curls into a large bun over her head. 

“If you must,” he grumbled.

She turned to face her fireplace and the flames where his head appeared. “We talked about this, Severus. We’re going to need help.”

“Why not just use Kreacher? He at least helped save my life once, instead of Black who tried to kill me.” Snape tried to not sound petulant, but apparently some habits couldn’t be helped.

“We’ll need them both,” she said simply. “Now, get back to work and we’ll see you in a few,” she concluded as she grabbed her bag and apparated out of the room. 

Twelve minutes and ten seconds later--not that Snape had been grinding his teeth at the clock--Hermione knocked on his office door with Black in tow. He did not exchange pleasantries, as there was nothing pleasant about this visit. The witch proceeded to lead them all the way up onto the seventh floor across from a tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and told them to wait. He stood across the passage from Black, as far as he could, wishing he could forget the other wizard existed. 

Hermione paced the hallway several times before a door appeared. Black looked absolutely delighted and even Severus admitted to himself that he was curious about a place in the castle he’d never known existed. The witch peered inside then motioned them to follow her, which he did but only after Black. After all, Snape knew what could happen if he turned his back on the wizard. 

The interior of the space was stuffed with junk as far as he could see and the witch was already mid-conversation with Black.

“... come help us, but I don’t want you to be alarmed.”

“Just do it,” Black sighed as he crossed his arms and leaned against the brick wall by Severus. Snape found himself jealous, just as he had in his school days, of the way the wizard made everything look effortless.

Hermione pursed her lips and called for Kreacher.

Severus noticed Black paled considerably in the two seconds it took for the elf to pop into the room. 

“Miss Hermione, Sir Snape,” the elf said in greeting, bowing slightly to each of them. He then turned to the other wizard and murmured, “Sirius, the son who broke my Mistress’s heart.”

Black spluttered and Hermione moved to stand between the wizard and the elf, holding a pacifying hand out to each. 

Severus enjoyed the fact that Black didn’t look so effortless after all. 

“Alright, we’re looking for a diadem or tiara, likely near the bust of an old warlock and a cupboard that looks as if it’s been splashed with acid, though I don’t know exactly when either of those were placed here. If you find it, do not wear it. I’m not sure if it’s cursed, but nothing good will happen. Understood?”

Kreacher and the wizards acknowledged their agreement. 

Severus was surprised when Black whispered in his general direction, “She’s a bit bossy, yeah?” before splitting off in the opposite direction. 

He pondered these words while he searched the perimeter of the room. He supposed Hermione was bossy, but oddly it didn’t bother him. Unlike The Dark Lord, or even Dumbledore, she was not directing him for her own gain. She had more knowledge than any of them regarding what they were up against and when she was most direct, it was only due to safety concerns. 

Snape saw nothing along the edges of the room and when he’d made it back to the door, turned into the maze of things.

In truth, what bothered Snape most about Hermione was her idea that he was a good man. Snape was not good, by any stretch of anyone’s imagination besides hers. He had willingly joined the Death Eaters and willingly participated in raids on property and persons. He had blindly followed a psychotic madman not because of the supposed pureblood mission but because of the power and prestige it granted him. And yet this witch showed up, seeming to know his entire life story, and proceeded to tell him that she trusts him to be a good man. The most infuriating thing was that sometimes, her conviction actually made him think her vision was attainable.

oooOooo

Sirius’ inner child had found quite a lot of treasures in this room. First, there were all those fanged frisbees. He remembered his own mother practically steamed like a tea kettle when he’d brought one home during Yule break his first year at Hogwarts. Second, he’d discovered someone’s muggle collection of adult magazines but when he looked closer, he saw they were a bit too… well worn for comfort. And now he was staring at a desk with the phrase “Boris’s bell end busted Belinda’s beaver” inked onto its surface forty or fifty times, as if someone wrote it, tried to erase it and wound up multiplying it instead. That find resulted in a lengthy chuckle.

But it had been two hours, and he’d seen quite a bit of old jewelry, but nothing close to a diadem. He turned into another alleyway and spotted Hermione down at the other end. Her curls had again come loose from their tie as she poked and prodded into cubby holes of furniture. At one point, she closed her eyes and seemed to be reaching out with her other senses. He could almost swear he heard her sniffing as he sauntered closer to her. 

“Going after it like a dog with a bone, eh?” he teased.

She jumped at his intrusion and had her wand trained on him before he could blink.

“Easy there, witch,” he said smoothly, backing up with his palms out. “I don’t want another stunning incident.”

In a flash, Hermione’s wand was gone, and a small blush painted her cheeks. It was a good color on her. 

“Sorry,” she blurted. “About last time. I couldn't risk you running into Dumbledore or coming after me.” 

“Easy for you to say. You didn’t wake up as part of a ghostly slumber party. I think Myrtle was actually trying to smell my hair when I came to,” he confessed in mock offense.

The witch snorted at the visual he’d painted. “Oh Myrtle. I’m afraid her harassment doesn’t get any better over time,” she grimaced and turned to look down the aisle where he’d started.

“Find anythin-” she trailed off, looking at him curiously. 

“What? Do I have dust in my mustache?” he asked, running his hands down his face and through his hair. 

“Do you sense magic as a dog?”

Well that was not what Sirius had expected. 

“Somewhat, I guess,” he shrugged, trying to explain. “I could tell the difference between Dementors and Guards in Azkaban before they came anywhere near my cell.”

He felt her small hand grasp his own and realized he had been staring at the floor. 

“What about tracking?” she asked gently.

“I can track animals and food.”

“Could you… would you try tracking a horcrux as Padfoot?” 

Sirius looked at her freckled face and saw she was asking. Somehow he knew that if he said no, she would not push him. 

“It’s likely that Severus or Kreacher would see you, and if you’d rather keep it a secret, I would-”

“I’m actually legal now,” he interrupted her. “I registered as an animagus last week. It seemed like the responsible thing to do now that the Ministry knows about Pete. And with Harry coming to me, I didn’t want to risk…”

His words caught in his throat as he saw a wide warm smile light Hermione’s face. Lily was the only witch who had ever looked at him like that; like she was proud of him. It created a funny feeling in his chest. 

He coughed several times then confirmed, “I’ll give it a try.”

Her eyes gleamed and she knelt on the floor. She opened her purse and pointed her wand into its depths, quickly retrieving a small wooden box. After cutting her palm with a spell, she opened the warded box and pulled out a large locket. 

Immediately, Sirius could feel the wrongness of the item. It was dark, it was evil, and it made his hairs stand on end. And that was all as a human. He transformed to Padfoot and was practically assaulted by the corruption that leaked from the necklace. His hackles raised and he crouched low to the ground, tail tucked between his legs. He really did not want to get any closer, but he put his nose up to the horcrux as Hermione levitated it in front of her, and sat with the feel of the dark magic for several long seconds before backing up and running the opposite direction. 

Running as Padfoot had always brought Sirius joy. There was something so simple and yet thrilling about putting four paws to ground and pushing himself faster and faster. He sprinted down the alley and turned left into the next aisle of junk. Past the desk with the alliterative innuendo, past the stack of muggle magazines which now that he had the nose of a dog, smelled completely rank, and past at least four fanged frisbees. He had covered five aisles when he ran past Kreacher who let out a wonderful shriek of surprise. On the sixth alley, something made him flinch and he slowed. Like the horcrux it was something that felt simply… wrong. He paced back and forth, panting from the exertion of the sprint, and tried to pinpoint the object. He noticed a cabinet that was similar to what Hermione had described and he yipped sharply three times. 

He couldn’t find anything like a diadem by the cabinet and started to search the other side of the aisle when Hermione and Kreacher approached him. 

“That’s definitely the cabinet,” she asserted, opening its doors to show the skeleton of an unknown animal in a cage. 

Kreacher seemed torn between actually helping and giving Padfoot furious glares. 

Suddenly, Padfoot’s nose bumped a small dusty box and he whined. Hermione whirled to face his side of the alley just as Snape came around the corner. 

He transformed back to two legs and slowly picked up the small box and set it on the floor between the cabinet and the heaps of junk, kneeling next to it. To his surprise, Kreacher then laid a hand on the box and it was instantly clean. 

Hermione knelt next to them and opened the lid, displaying a dusty tiara with a central sapphire. 

Snape’s low baritone whisper of it being the “Lost Diadem of Ravenclaw” somehow made perfect sense in this moment. 

“We should destroy it now,” Snape added. 

The witch gazed at the object sadly, then shut the box and nodded. “But not with all this stuff,” she assessed, looking around the room, “We’ll need a clear space.”

She led them out into the hall and the door disappeared. After Hermione completed a few turns, a door appeared again and they all entered to find a cavernous room only remarkable in its total emptiness. 

Sirius marvelled over the magic in this space. The sad knowledge that he and his Marauder brothers never found this while in school had a silver lining in that he had no memories to tarnish the room. 

While still gawking, a black glove was suddenly thrust in his face. He looked down to see Hermione holding an open jar of fangs, some as long and wide as his forearm.

"Your turn," she instructed, looking straight into his eyes. 

With gloves in place, he grabbed a fang and approached the diadem in its case on the floor. 

He looked to the others and it suddenly occurred to him that this entire situation was incredibly bizarre. Here he was, with his mother's hated house elf, his school nemesis, and a time traveling witch, holding a Basilisk fang trying to stab a piece of jewelry. 

Even more bizarre, Snape was the one giving advice. 

"You'll want to use force," he volunteered. 

Sirius nodded, and without further thought, plunged the fang into the metal. Black liquid poured out around the fang with surprising speed while a high-pitched screech rent the air. He backed up and covered his ears. Just as he was sure he’d go deaf, the room became ominously silent. 

He looked to the witch and wizard, thinking one had cast a silencing charm, but he saw both of them also attempting to cover their ears. Kreacher was the only one with his arm extended, as if he had just snapped his fingers.

"Kreacher has helped," the elf gruffed. His ears twitched in such a way that made Sirius think he was happy or excited. 

Hermione started thanking the elf profusely, which Sirius thought was a bit of overkill. She then turned that smile, the special one that was wide and welcoming, on him.

“One down, three more to go,” she cheered.


	23. CHAPTER 22: USER/ERROR

CHAPTER 22: USER/ERROR

“I'm telling you, Moony, it was intense," Sirius relayed before stuffing a chip in his mouth. 

"Guess I'll just have to get the full experience with the next one," he acknowledged while setting his pint on the table. 

"Better you than me, mate. Those things are…" he broke off in a violent shiver.

"Well Hermione did say I could join her tomorrow evening to finish off the locket."

Padfoot sipped his beer and smirked, "That's one hell of a date."

Remus swatted Sirius' hand away from the chips on his plate. "I thought you were convinced she and Snape were together."

"If that’s true, then they're pretty quiet about it," he admitted, scraping his thumbnail down his jaw. "But I'd be pretty quiet about dating Snape too, if you catch my meaning. Really, I don't think she's the dating kind."

Moony quirked an eyebrow at the wizard. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"She's just… so bloody focused on this mission. I don't think she's even interested. Or maybe she’s into birds more than blokes," Sirius replied, flagging the waitress for another pint. 

"You've given this a lot of thought," Remus commented. He was starting to get suspicious of Padfoot's motives. 

"What? And you haven't?"

"We just met the woman. And we only figured out who she actually is three days ago. So, no, I have not."

"Come on. I've seen you eyeing her. Remember those times with Marley, we always thought there may be room for a third."

"Pads, that was over two years ago," Remus sighed as he arranged the chips on his plate. He did, of course, remember their time with Marlene. She was a particularly sharp-witted and beautiful witch. But she had died, as had almost everyone else he was ever close to.

"Look," he continued, "I only just got you back, Sirius. For months I was convinced I was cursed, that no one I loved would ever stick around. Can we just… be us for awhile?"

The grey eyes of his wizard found his own and he reached across the table to clasp his hand. "We'll always have us," he promised. 

oooOooo 

"Back so soon?"

"Indeed, Hurock. I simply came by to thank you."

The Head Goblin stared at her, his expression unchanging. 

"For healing me," she added. 

His eyes narrowed, “As we cannot enter a wizarding hospital with an injured wand wielder, it was the least we could do.”

Hermione realized what she had taken as good will, was more a public relations snafu. She cleared her throat, “Well, I know it was not required of you, and I would still like to pass my gratitude to the Goblin Nation. I hope the cup was destroyed to your satisfaction.”

Hurock drew his front teeth over his wide lower lip and steepled his long fingers. “You are an interesting witch, Hermione,” he repeated his sentiment from their first meeting.

She waited to see if he would explain further, but she was encouraged that this was the first he’d used her name as she’d requested. 

“When you attempted to destroy the object, you protected the elf and the goblins before you protected yourself.”

“I hope no one was hur--wait, attempted? Is the cup not destroyed?” she inquired, anxiety rising.

“No one was injured,” the Head Goblin lamented and his ears drooped slightly. 

Hermione realized yet again that she would never fully understand goblins. 

“And the cup?” she urged.

“I finished it with the Blade of Aletheia.”

She sat frozen, mind racing through the implications of what Hurock had told her. “Did you… imbue the Blade with Basilisk venom?” she asked hesitantly.

Hurock hissed and his hands clenched to fists. “Nothing touches the Blade,” he growled.

“But how did it destroy a horcrux?”

“The Blade has many magical qualities-”

She set her elbows on the desk as she interrupted, “Yes, yes, you’ve told me. But there has to be an explanation.”

He stared at her through his squinted eyes for several seconds. “The Blade is the first piece of Goblin-wrought silver,” he declared as he rose from his seat. “Good day, Hermione.” 

And with that he walked out of the office. 

Hermione left Gringotts more confused than she would prefer. She apparated to Hogsmeade and met Severus in the Three Broomsticks for lunch, certain she was missing a piece of vital information. 

“You seem distracted,” the wizard pointed out by way of greeting. 

She smiled at him and he glowered. It had quickly become a familiar part of their routine. They sat at the bar and ordered pasties and tea. 

“How’s work?” she asked.

“Much better without students,” he admitted. “I spend most of my time organizing and preparing the classroom.”

“Have you decided if you’ll drop any hints to Dumbledore about the Chamber of Secrets?”

“I will, but how and when has yet to be determined,” he advised while fixing his tea.

“I just don’t want Hagrid to carry that blame throughout his life."  Hermione had told Severus that the chamber was last opened by Tom Riddle and how he'd framed Hagrid and Aragog by association. 

He nodded curtly and she wondered if he was also distracted.

“So how many cauldrons do you think you’ll have to replace this year?” she asked with a sly grin.

“My estimate is ten,” he stopped to sip his tea, then added while setting down the cup, “in the first week, depending on how many new pupils are sorted into Gryffindor.”

She chuckled. Hermione was still somewhat mystified that Severus Snape had a sense of humor, but she found she appreciated his dry wit. It also allowed her to easily separate him from the man she’d known as her professor; something she found more difficult with Remus and Sirius. Perhaps it was because she’d known them personally. 

They were silent for several minutes as they enjoyed their lunch until she finally decided to broach a conversation she’d been pondering.

“Are you friends with the Malfoys?”

He stopped chewing and looked at her from the side of his eye. 

“As much as anyone in Slytherin can be friends. We each have appearances to keep up, of course,” he replied, alluding to their Death Eater ties.

She inhaled deeply, then exhaled, “Lucius has the diary. But he doesn't know what it truly is.”

Severus set his fork and knife down silently before turning his black eyes on her face. “Yet you have not mentioned this until now.”

He was suspicious, but she didn’t understand why. 

“Well you might not have noticed, but I’ve been a bit busy. I haven’t yet figured out the best way to get it from him. I was wondering if you-”

He cut her off, “Was this your plan all along? To use me?”

“What? No, I was also going to ask Sirius or Remus if-”

“Of course, your good old Gryffindor buddies,” he hissed. Snape stood fluidly and deposited his portion of the bill on the bar. 

“Wait,” she begged, putting her hand on his arm as he moved to leave, “That’s not at all what I meant. Look, use your legili-”

“Good Day, Miss Granger,” he snapped as he stalked out of the pub. 

Hermione was stunned, having no real idea what had just happened. She thought about going after him, but several people had watched him storm out and she felt it would be too much public fodder if she chased him back to Hogwarts. Besides, she couldn’t see that she’d done anything wrong. She had simply wanted to ask his opinion. Honestly, the man could read minds; she’d have thought he’d understand her motives. 

She sat for fifteen minutes as she finished her lunch and tried to squash the feeling of abandonment and betrayal that blossomed in her heart. It was Ron leaving her on the horcrux hunt all over again. She breathed deeply, trying to shut those emotions away in their locked chest where they belonged and decided to head back to her flat to continue her arithmantic equations on Lily’s research. After all, there were immediate action items that needed to be crossed off her list.

oooOooo 

"You do not belong here. You will be alone. You will die alone. And you will fail, Mudblood..."

"Hermione."

"Just like you failed Harry and Ginny. Like you failed your own parents by breaking their minds…"

"Hermione."

"You'll only live long enough to see your friends and family suffer. I have seen your heart and it is not enough to save them…"

"Hermione!"

"They don't care about you. How could they? They only want what you can give them before they leave you. Just like Ron, they want to use you and you'll let them…"

"HERMIONE!"

Remus finally plunged his own fang down into the glass face of the locket, effectively cutting off the vitriol the heinous thing was spewing. He understood now why she had given him one along with her own. He also understood why they'd come to the middle of a forest to destroy the thing. 

The witch looked quite small and shaky as she crouched on the ground in front of the shattered necklace, wiping tears on her knees. He wondered at the magic of the horcrux. It was like a boggart that played on insecurities instead of fears. Remus suddenly realized he now knew some very private things about this witch. Apparently all of them had burdens to bear.

He hesitantly leaned down towards her, as if she were a scared animal, when she jolted upwards and screamed, " _ BOMBARDA MAXIMA _ !"

The remains of the locket and all of the earth around it exploded. When the dust had cleared there was a crater almost two meters deep, exposing a tree root as thick as his leg that she had inadvertently ripped apart with the power of her spell. 

Remus cleared his throat and the witch turned toward him, her entire front covered in dirt and leaves, tears etching muddy tracks down her cheeks. 

"Thank you," she croaked, looking at his feet. 

"You knew that would happen?" 

Hermione nodded and wiped her nose on her sleeve, spreading dirt and bogies across her cheek. She huffed and used her wand to clean her face and clear her airways, but she still didn't look at him. 

She could have asked him to stand before that locket and take its abuse. Yet she had shouldered that burden without complaint. Remus suddenly realized that was actually true of her entire mission, and he was awestruck. 

He looked around the forest floor, trying to give her some privacy to collect herself and his eyes landed on the cracked fang.

“Must have been a big Basilisk,” he commented without consciously intending to, “However did you kill it?”

He heard a few more sniffles before she cleared her throat, “Technically I didn’t kill it. That was the rooster’s job.”

He chuckled at her observation and was happy to hear her join in briefly.

"You are an amazing person," he admitted, mostly to himself. 

She looked up at him with wide eyes. He was slightly concerned by her shock.

“What? Has no one ever told you that?” 

Hermione smiled but it did not reach her eyes. “Harry was the last person to share that sentiment,” she replied softly.

Remus smiled back at her. “Well at least the boy is honest… was honest? The verb tenses really are a bit confusing,” he mused.

She shrugged, then sighed heavily. “Come on. Let’s get back to our Friday night research.”

He snickered, “Now you’re speaking my language.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the shorter chapter, but I couldn't find a better place to cut it.   
> Many thanks to everyone who is reading, enjoying, and commenting on this work! I truly appreciate you.


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